Page 80 of When We Were Young

“B-R-A-I-N-I-A-C,” I tell him, “And it’s somebody who is super smart. Usually smarter than most people around them.”

“Yeah, that sounds like my mom.”

“Wow, kiddo. That kind of makes up for you calling me a mule,” Lizette jests.

Simon giggles again. “I didn’t call you a mule, I said you’re stubborn as a mule.”

He holds up the tablet that was sitting next to him, and he’s found a picture of a mule on the internet.

“This is what it looks like.”

“Yep, that’s right,” I tell him.

I gesture to the box of cinnamon rolls by tilting my head toward it.

“Is he allergic to anything?”

“Nope, not at all. He’s a healthy little boy with no allergies.” I watch as she smiles at Simon.

“I did have an ear infection once,” he says, almost proudly.

“I hate ear infections. They really hurt.”

“Yeah, but Mom got me some medicine at the doctor, and it felt better in a couple days. Plus, it was the pink medicine, and it tasted good.”

“I know what you mean. I used to get that medicine when I was a kid.”

“They had medicine back then?” Simon asks.

My jaw drops. Now it’s Lizette’s sweet laughter that fills my ears.

“How old do you think I am?” I ask Simon. “No, wait, don’t answer that!” He grins, and his cheeks turn pink. It’s darn adorable.

I glance over at Lizette. “Do you have some paper towels or napkins?”

“Sure. I’ll be right back.”

She disappears into the kitchen and comes back a few seconds later with some saucer-sized plates and a handful of napkins.

“My mom makes the best cinnamon rolls ever,” I tell Simon. “When I was over there this morning, she gave me some. I thought I would stop by and share them with you guys if that’s okay.”

“I love cinnamon rolls!” His eyes light up with excitement. I open the box, and his eyes widen.

I serve him a cinnamon roll, and then I prepare to serve Lizette one.

“Just half. I probably shouldn’t even have that.”

“Why?” I ask her. “They’re delicious.”

“Yeah, well, I’m thirty-three. I can’t eat as freely as I used to and not pay for it around the waistline,” she huffs.

It’s ridiculous. She’s gorgeous. Everything about her. I force myself to hold my tongue.

I turn my attention back to Simon.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like to drink, so I have three options for you. You can have whichever you want. Or all of them. I mean, assuming it’s okay with your mom.”

“Which one do you want?” Simon asks.