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“So you didn’t?”

His eyes narrow. “You want to be the one to tell her no?”

I look at our daughter. She’s currently eating frosting with one hand while holding a plastic tiara in the other. “No.”

“Thought so.”

A crash sounds from the hallway. Dane and I both turn.

Four-year-old Jack runs into the kitchen wearing underwear, a superhero cape, and his father’s work boots.

The boots reach halfway up his legs.

“Dad!”

Dane catches him before he falls. “What?”

“I need an ax.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re four.”

“But you have one.”

“I’m thirty-nine.”

“When I’m five?”

“No.”

“Six?”

“No.”

“Ten?”

“We’ll talk.”

Jack considers this. “Can I have a chainsaw?”

“No.”

“Grandpa Hank said I could.”

Dane closes his eyes. “Of course he did.”

I take the baby from him. Little Rosie makes a soft noise but doesn’t wake.

“Where is Hank?”

“Lodge.”

“Unsupervised?” Dane looks concerned.

“Good point.”