Page 87 of How to Prevent a Fumble

“She was watching your game until late,” she shrugs. “I fell asleep early. Sorry Leo, it was boring.”

A slow smile creeps across my lips. Trust kids to tell you how it is. “It was quite a boring game, wasn’t it?”

We won, which was amazing. Especially since we get today mostly free, and don’t have to deal with Coach up our asses about everything we did wrong. That being said, the other team sucked, and it was honestly a bloodbath.

Most of the time easy wins are great, but I can see how it can be boring to watch. Especially for a kid.

She nods, climbing into the stool at the kitchen island. I lean against my forearms as she speaks. “Yeah. You guys need to find ways to make it more entertaining. Like seriously, I love staying up late but it was a snooze fest.”

The thing about kids is that they’re honest, but they also usually repeat things they’ve heard before.

I’m not going to ask who said that.

“I’ll definitely try to make it better for you next week, alright?” She nods. “Okay cool. Now,” I perch my chin on my hands, “what do you want for breakfast?”

She thinks for a minute, her chin between her thumb and index finger. “French toast me, homie,” she says, slapping the table.

My brows furrow as I stand. “Where in the world do you learn these things?”

She shrugs, yawning again. “Mom.”

“Your mom says the wordhomie?”

She considers this. “No. But I’ve heard it.”

Clearly.

Turning around, I go to gather ingredients before realizing… I have no idea how to make French toast.

I turn back to her. “You don’t happen to know what I’ll need to make that, right?”

She shakes her head.

My lips clamp together as I take out my phone, looking up a basic recipe. “Okay, eggs, I think we have those.”

I check the fridge, indeed finding eggs. Taking them out, I toss them gently to the counter before turning back. “Milk? Uh, maybe oat milk?” I scan the contents of the fridge, realizing that we’re out. “Your mom usually goes to the store on Mondays, doesn’t she?”

Elara nods dramatically. “Yep. She hates the crowds on the weekend.”

Makes sense.

“Okay, well,” my eyes land on the sweet cream coffee creamer and I pull it out. “We only need a splash, so we’re going with this.”

Elara crosses her arms over her body, sitting back and watching me like a foreman at a construction site.

“The final two things are vanilla and cinnamon. What is vanilla extract? Have I ever owned it?” I mutter, looking in each cabinet.

After five minutes of searching and absolutely no help from the small child sitting at the kitchen island, I finally find them both in one of my cabinets, way in the back. Grabbing the bread and a baking dish, I get to work.

“Do you have syrup?” Elara asks, eyeing me.

Oh god, do I have syrup?

That would be unfortunate.

Returning to my fridge, I check to see if I have syrup inthere. “Do you know where syrup is stored? Does it get refrigerated?”

Elara shrugs.

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