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“I like red too!”

“That’s the color of firetrucks!”

“You know my dad is firefighter.”

The gleeful gasp out of the young boy has me covering my mouth to suppress my giggles. “What?! Really?!”

“Really.”

“Really? Really?!”

“Really. Really. Really.”

Another sharp breath is taken.

“They’re bonding,” H whispers near my ear.

“They are.”

“I hope our egg bonds with me like that.”

“They will.”

“I bet…” Flames continues as he reaches into the box, “I could get you a ride on one.”

“Realllllyyyy?!?!”

“Really what?” Kiana Hansen inquires upon her abrupt entering in the room. She shoots me a quick glance, gray eyes finding my espresso ones, alongside her mouthed apology. “Sorry.”

“You’re fine,” I mouth back.

“He said his dad is a firefighter and could get me a ride on a real life firetruck!” her son practically shouts, vibrating in place.

“And who exactly is he?” Kiana investigates during her approach.

At that, Flames turns his face towards hers, clearly prepared to answer, yet doesn’t or maybe can’t?

The way his jaw is slack makes me feel like the answer is can’t.

Our awkward silence waiting goes on for far too long prompting H to state, “Flames.”

“Agustin,” he airily announces, open palm extended towards the tall, older woman now in his presence.

“Agustin?!” escapes in a muted croak of disbelief.

“That’s his first name…” my Old Man informs, pulling my stare up to his. “And that’s something we typically only tell our Old Lady…”

***