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The kids, getting smarter, more worldly in ways I sometimes wish they wouldn’t just yet, had started to be absolutely disgusted by the hand belt buckle I’d bought their father many, many years ago. So much so that he usually chose not to wear it.
“Oh, yeah?” he asked, smiling as I climbed off of him, moving naked through our room, and when I turned back with the box, his gaze was moving lazily over me.
“Open,” I demanded, pressing it into his hands.
He pulled it out, a little golden bird in flight.
“A bird?” he asked.
“A swallow,” I clarified, smile tugging at my lips as he burst out in laughter. “Let’s see how long it takes them to figure that one out.”
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