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“Do you think he’s their cook?”

“No. He said he works in security. But he had good knives.”

“Having good equipment doesn’t mean he knows how to use it,” she responds.

“Well, he was pretty good with a knife,” I tell her excitedly. “It surprised me and everyone else in the class.”

She gives me a slight smile. “You seem rather taken with him.”

“What? No. Aunt Carol, don’t even go there.”

“Your mouth is saying no but your expression is telling a different story,” she says with a smile. Setting her book down on the end table, she says, “Whatever you say, dear. Did you happen to catch his name?”

“Of course. I know all their names because they were on their paperwork.”

“You said his was on his cut.”

I tell her what she wants to know. “Sabre. His name’s Sabre.”

“Like I said, they’re mostly good men, but you take care. I know you don’t want to risk getting back into what you got out of when you left Billings.”

I feel my face flush. “No, I surely do not. I’m trying my best to make a decent life for me and Noah. I’m focused on growing my side hustle into a viable full-time business and keeping us safe. I’m not looking to add trouble to our life.”

“Good.” She pats my arm reassuringly. “For what it’s worth, noticing how handsome and seemingly nice a man is, isn’t a moral failing. You don’t have to be embarrassed with me.”

***

Morning starts early at our household. Aunt Carol sleeps in. Noah and I get up at six thirty, shower and land at the kitchen table. He reads one of his library books while I make eggs and toast.

“What are you reading about this morning?”

“It’s a book of interesting military facts. Did you know camouflage isn’t supposed to make you invisible? It’s just supposed to break up your shape, so the enemy doesn’t notice you as fast.”

“I did not know that,” I tell him, sliding his eggs and toast in front of him. “Eat up. We need to head out to school in about twenty minutes.”

I start making his lunch, putting in his favorite crackers, an apple, cubes of cheese, and a few slices of last night’s ribeye in a container. “There is steak in your lunch from my class. Don’t trade it away thinking it’s meatballs or something.”

Noah looks pleased. “You brought some home for me?”

“I always bring you something from my class.”

“And last night was steak night! Did anybody cut themselves this time?”

“No. Last month’s class was a one-off thing, bug. I don’t expect it to happen again.”

“Sergeant Rock says a knife doesn’t jam, it doesn’t need to be reloaded, and it never runs out of ammo.”

“I didn’t realize you were still reading Sergeant Rock comics.”

“Of course I am,” Noah says around a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “They might not be real, but there’s a lot of useful stuff in them.” “I guess all that it true. But I’m a chef, and we just cut food with knives.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean Sergeant Rock is wrong. He’s sometimes misunderstood but not wrong.”

I fold the lunch bag down and press the crease. “One of my students brought his own knives last night. He has a whole roll of really sharp and well-maintained blades. And he was very careful how he used them.”

Noah sits up straighter, and his chewing slows down as he thinks about my carefully crafted words. They were designed to get him to understand the importance of being careful and safe. The minute he opens his mouth, I know that I missed the mark. “Then he’s like a soldier who keeps his own weapons in good repair.”

“He was smart and safety conscious,” I point out.