Tatum’s words echo through my mind, rocking my world on its axis. I won’t. I haves Alden. Already she trusts me to have her best interests at heart. Damn. I could tell from the guilt-stricken look Natalie desperately tried to hide, Tatum’s words affected her too.

Tatum, though? Not so much. That kid is business as usual. “Wanna see my room?”

“Sure, I’d love to.” She wraps her small hand around my pointer finger and pulls me behind her down the hall. Her door is the first on the right. She pushes it open, and the first thing I notice is that it looks like a rainbow exploded inside her room. Her walls and carpet are the only neutrals in the entire space. Her curtains are purple and blue, her rug is a rainbow shag, her bedding is pink and orange polka dots, and she has throw pillows in every color in the Crayola box. It’s a lot to take in, but it screams Tatum.

“Whoa, Tater Tot. This room’s amazing!”

She darts past me and climbs up onto her bed where she starts bouncing. “You likes it?”

I scoff. “Like? No. I love it!” I let her bounce a few more seconds before swooping her off of her mattress and into my arms. I set her down and take a seat on her bed, and she shows me her most favorite toys. After a few minutes, I ask, “You wanna help me make dinner?”

She looks up at me like I’m some kind of hero. “You likes to cook?”

“I do. I like it so much I went to school for it.”

“I go to school! But we just pway!”

“Oh yeah? Nothing wrong with that. What did you do at school today?”

She pauses, thinking over my question. “Today I got marrieds Clark, he’s my number two hubband.”

I practically choke on air. “Married, huh? Does your mom know?”

Tatum smiles a smile so saccharine my teeth hurt. “Nope. It’s our secwet, Alden.”

I lift my brows in surprise. “Got it.” I pinch my fingers together and hover them over my mouth and mime locking a key. “My lips are sealed. Now, let’s go cook!” I grab my bag from the floor by the door and meet Tatum in the kitchen. I’m immediately impressed by the way she knows where everything is—from pots and pans to utensils to spices. This kid is familiar with her kitchen.

I start arranging the items from my bag when Tatum tugs on the hem of my shirt. “Tie my apwon?” I look down, and clutched in her grasp is a miniature apron covered in flowers and polka dots.

“Of course.”

It’s then I notice she’s already wearing the apron she wants tied. Which must mean… “Here. Dis one for you.” Dutifully, I put on the child’s size smock with a smile. “Dat’s perfect! What’s we making?”

“I was thinking we could make breakfast. How does that sound?”

“Like yum!”

“Have you ever had eggs benedict?” She shrugs her little shoulders. “Well, you’re in for a treat.” I hope…do kids like hollandaise sauce?

Tatum stands on her stool at the counter, and I show her how to separate egg yolks from whites. “Dis feels yucky,” she squeals, and I agree.

Once our yolks are safely in the blender, we add two teaspoons of water using her special rainbow set of measuring spoons, along with salt, pepper, and a pinch of cayenne. Switching gears, Tatum drags her stool over to the stove and we set to work on step two of our sauce, melting the butter until it’s nice and foamy.

When it’s just right, I help her slowly pour the butter into the blender as well before securing the lid. I show her which button to press, and she squeals when the loud mechanical whir fills the room. She then helps me transfer the sauce to a small bowl, and I cover it with plastic wrap.

“What next?” she asks, her voice bubbling over with excitement.

“Now we poach our eggs.” The hot water makes me nervous, so I only let her watch with this part, but I still explain every step. “You don’t ever want the water to be boiling, just a few bubbles. You got that?”

She nods like a scientist checking an experiment. “Bubbles, not boils.”

We set our eggs onto a paper-towel-covered plate and start on toasting our English muffins. While they get golden and crispy, we fry up some Canadian bacon.

“We done?” she asks, looking at the plates of food on the counter.

“Not quite. Now we have to assemble them.”

“Ah-swimble?”

“Assemble. Or…build them. Kind of like blocks.”

I show her the order to stack them with the first one and help with her the second, but the third…the third I let her try solo.

The tip of her tongue pokes out in concentration as she sets an English muffin onto the plate in front of her. She moves the Canadian bacon with surgeon-like precision. It’s the egg that trips her up. She sets it down a little too roughly, and the yolk bursts.

Suddenly, my worst fear is coming true. Her big green eyes are full of tears. “I broke’d it,” she wails, absolutely distraught.

Without even thinking about it, I wrap her in my arms and hug her tight. “It’s okay,” I soothe, “I promise. It’s okay.”

“But now da yolk ran away,” she sniffles.

“It did. But it didn’t get far.” I show her how the yolk is pooling around the bread. “It will still taste just the same. In fact, I think I want to eat this one. Can I?”

Her tears wane, and she looks at me with pure joy. “Really?”

“Really-really. Now, let’s finish up. Your mom should be ready to join us soon.”

We crank out the remaining Benedicts, and I carry them to the table just as Natalie enters the room. “Mmm, something smells good!”

Tatum rushes over to her and drags her to the table. “We made eggs…uh, eggs…”

“Benedict,” I fill in. “And Tatum helped every step of the way.”

Natalie shoots me a knowing look. One that says, that’s because she takes after you. My throat clogs with emotion, but I swallow it down. “Let’s eat!”