Page 53 of Joker

Maybe both.

I open the fridge, grab the first kid juice I see, and then discover it’s one of those stupid tiny boxes that never open right unless you enjoy suffering.

“Need scissors?” Raven asks, and I hear the sleep-thick amusement under it.

“I need the people who make these to answer for their crimes.”

I find the scissors, stab the straw through on the first try because I am not losing a fight to a juice box in front of a toddler, and hand it over to Lexi.

She takes it without even looking at me, still half asleep, and immediately starts drinking.

No fanfare. No suspicious stare. No hesitation.

I don’t know why that lands. It does.

Raven watches the whole thing like she can’t quite process it. Then she says, “You didn’t have to do that.”

I shrug, already turning back toward the counter. “Did it anyway.”

There’s cereal in the cabinet above the toaster, because apparently we are a house that stocks cereal for visiting kids or brothers with questionable diets. I grab the first box I recognize from watching Mac feed Cain’s kids a dozen times and set it on the table.

Lexi squints at it through sleepy eyes and says, “No.”

I look at her. “No?”

She points with the hand not holding juice. “Purple one.”

I stare at the cabinet. Raven, unfortunately for me, is already smiling into her coffee.

“There’s a purple one?” I ask.

“Third shelf,” she says, clearly enjoying herself now.

I open the cabinet, find the bright purple box shoved in the back, and hold it up. “This one?”

Lexi nods once, satisfied. “Yeah.”

“Of course.”

I get a bowl, pour cereal, add milk, and set it in front of her with a spoon. She looks at it, looks at me, then at her mother, who just shrugs like yes, apparently this giant biker is serving your breakfast now and no, I don’t know what the hell is happening either.

Lexi accepts this state of affairs without much concern. She sets Bunny beside the bowl carefully, like she wants him close but not at risk of milk damage, then starts eating in sleepy little motions.

I grab napkins from the holder and set them near Raven before she even asks.

That’s when she gives me that look.

Not flirtation. Not gratitude exactly. Something stranger. Like she genuinely doesn’t know what to do with the fact that I am useful in all the ways that matter without making a production out of it.

I know that look too.

It’s the one people get when they’ve spent enough time around men who help only if there’s something in it for them, or because they want credit for being the kind of man who helps.

I don’t like that one either.

“Stop looking at me like I just built the kid a house,” I mutter, taking my mug back to the counter.

The corner of her mouth lifts. “I wasn’t.”