Page 62 of More than Need

“It’s actually pretty good. It tastes like blue.”

“What colour do you want?” Hudson asked, tugging on Dawson’s sleeve.

“Hudson, you have to wait until we’re finished speaking before you ask a question, remember?”

“Sorry.” Hudson paused. “Are you done?”

Dawson stifled a smile, not wanting to contradict Gideon’s parenting.

Gideon laughed. “Yeah, we’re done.”

Hudson tugged on Dawson’s sleeve again. “What colour do you want?”

Dawson glanced over the array of playdough colours. It looked like they’d gathered the entire rainbow and then some. “What are we making?” he asked first. That would play a part in his selection.

“Rubbish,” Hudson said proudly. He pointed to a pile he’d already created that mostly looked like he’d squished random shapes together. That counted as rubbish. “And then the garbage truck can pick them up. I want to be a garbageman when I grow up.”

Shattering glass had Dawson shooting to his feet. “Are you alright? Did it get you?”

“No, it’s fine. It just slipped.” Gideon frowned down at the floor where glass pieces spread out over the tiles. There were a few bigger pieces and other smaller ones that could get stuck in clothing.

“Don’t move,” Dawson said, heart skipping a beat. “You’re not even wearing shoes!”

Gideon’s lips quirked. “Why would I put shoes on in my own kitchen?”

Good thingoneof them found this amusing. “Where’s your dustpan and broom? Let me get it. Hike yourself up on the bench and away from it.”

“Daddy?”

“Stay over there, Hud.”

“When are we getting our milkshakes?”

“Very soon,” Gideon promised. “Finish your garbage, and then you can have one with tea.”

Hudson bobbed his head in acceptance and went back to his work. Oh, to be as resilient as a child.

“You don’t like garbage?” Dawson asked.

“Does anyonelikegarbage? The name implies it’s a thing you throw out.”

“He seems to like it.” Had that set Gideon off, or was it a coincidence?

Gideon didn’t respond, and the hard-and-yet-sad look got stronger. Not a coincidence. Not that Dawson could force him to spill with his kid in the room. Or while glass covered his kitchen floor. “I need you out of the way so I can clean up. Do you need help to get up?” He hadn’t taken his shoes off when he’d arrived, distracted by Hudson and playdough. Fortuitous.

That curve of Gideon’s lips flicked up further. “I think I can manage.” He gripped the edge of the counter and lifted himself until he sat on the bench, feet dangling. Out of harm’s way. Good.

“Your dustpan and broom?”

“In the pantry.”

“Don’t move,” Dawson ordered, shooting Gideon a suspicious look as he made his way to the pantry beside the fridge.

“Not moving.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am sure that I am not moving,” Gideon said, amusement lacing his voice.

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