Creative Arrangement, My Ass

The last plate clinked into the dishwasher, and I leaned my hip against the counter, watching the two of them head down the hall. Ash bounced, still buzzing with energy even after inhaling two arepas. Zane followed, one broad hand resting on the boy’s head like he was steering a junior pilot.

“Come on, let’s tidy up your room,” his voice carried back to me. Low. Steady. Possessive enough to make my pulse trip in annoyance.

Normally, I would’ve argued on the spot. Ash’s idea of “tidying” looked more like a natural disaster with faint military logistics. But I let it go this time. Maybe I wanted to see how a Romano defined the word clean.

Mug in hand, I padded toward Ash’s room and stopped at the doorway, peeking through the crack.

Of course.

Ash was cramming toys into shelves with zero logic. Dinosaurs piled on top of cars, shoved with so much force the whole stack nearly toppled. Zane stood beside him, proud like it was genius.

“Good,” he said, patting Ash’s shoulder. “Quick. Efficien