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I should be terrified.

I check the clock. I’m picking him up in an hour. I’ve already planned the whole thing out, because planning is the one thing that reliably lowers my heart rate. Park first, while the morning’s still cool. Then the bakery down the street.

Because kids like sugar.

I get up off the couch. I dump the cold coffee. And I go get dressed to spend a Saturday with a child I wasn’t planning on loving.

Bo is waiting on the porch when I pull up, Dottie right there beside him.

He’s watching for my car, and the second he sees me he stands and waves with both arms.

“You’re four minutes early,” he says, climbing into the back seat. “I like that.”

“I’m always early.”

“Me too.” He buckles himself, checks it twice. “Dad’s always exactly on time, which is technically fine, but four minutes early is better.”

“It is,” I agree, and I mean it.

Dottie follows him down in a pale pink sundress, purse already on her shoulder, and crosses the lawn to my window while Bo settles in. I roll it down.

“You’re a lifesaver, you know that.”

“It’s my pleasure. Truly.” And it is, which still surprises me. “I’ll have him back by five. Earlier if you want.”

“Five is perfect. Take your time. Ruth’s got us on a whole itinerary, there’s a lunch involved, it’s a production.” She waves a hand, then digs in her purse. “Here, put your number in my phone. Just in case. I’m sure you two are going to have a lovely day.”

We trade phones. I add myself to her contacts. She adds herself to mine as Dottie Baker with a little heart after it.

“Don’t worry about a thing,” I assure her. “Go have fun.”

From the back seat, Bo makes a sound of profound suffering.

“Can we go now!”

Dottie and I look at each other, and then we’re both laughing.

“Go,” Dottie says, stepping back, waving us off. “Before your passenger leaves a bad review.”

The park is enormous.

I don’t know what I expected. A swing set, a slide, a patch of mulch. But this is one of the new ones, the city clearly spent good money on, and I stop just inside the gate and stare, because I have never seen anything like it.

There’s a whole wooden fortress in the middle, ramps and towers and bridges, a rock wall built into one side. A zip line. A full row of swings, plus the bucket kind and one shaped like a nest big enough for three kids. A splash pad, off for the season. A climbing dome. A slide built right into a hill. And a field beyond all of it that goes on and on, green and open, trees big enough to nap under.

I loved being outside as a kid. We didn’t have parks like this growing up.

I’m still standing there taking it in when Bo appears at my elbow.

“I know,” he says, kindly, like he’s letting me in on something. “It can be overstimulating.”

I laugh. Out loud. Because he’s right, and because of all the people on earth to say it to me, it’s this one.

“Yeah,” I admit. “It is. Where do we even start? There’s so much to do.”

“Swings.” He takes my hand and starts pulling, no hesitation, a boy on a mission. “I always start with the swings. Your legs are freshest at the beginning. Then the climbing stuff. Then the field, because the field is for lying down, and you can’t do the swings after lying down.”

“Understood.”