The Lost Pack
Poppy teases, reaching over to brush his hair back from his forehead.
He yawns wide enough to show every little tooth, then blinks up at me. “Can I have pancakes?”
“Pancakes?” I echo, feigning shock. “That’s a big request for someone who’s barely awake.”
He shrugs, eyes already drooping again. “I like making them.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, kissing the top of his head. “That’s reason enough, baby.”
Poppy watches us, her expression soft but full of something fierce beneath it. “We’re going to be okay, aren’t we?” she asks quietly.
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