A son with the bad boy
I love Owen like I will never love anyone else.
We pass by a booth where girls are coloring people's faces for free. Jo sets him down, and the girls, who can't be more than ten years old, paint him a little haphazardly, but it makes him happy, and even though he rubs his face and the paint comes off, he looks adorable, and I lose count of the number of photos I take of him. Jo also takes photos of us together, and we've never looked more like a family.
"Come on," she says, rubbing her hands together and ruffling Owen's hair. "It's time to go see Aunt's boyfriend."
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