West had eaten every single French fry and licked each individual particle of salt from his McDonald’s lunch. With nothing but the discarded pickles from his burger left on his tray, he was already asking for dessert.
No surprises there.
If West stayed where he was on his growth chart, he’d be taller than his dad before he graduated high school. Steve had been a football star before a back injury kept him from playing college level. He was proud of the life he’d made as a Boston attorney, but Justine knew he still had hopes that West would follow in his athletic footsteps. Genes were on West’s side, and if you could judge by their grocery bill, her son already had the appetite of a teenage athlete.
“Look, Mama.” West pointed at a little bakery halfway down the terminal from their gate.
