The next morning he didn’t wake up to be a five-year-old again, but he did wake up to a warm house; it was the next best thing. It was the good kind of warmth, the kind you can only experience when the windows are frosted shut, and the snow is a peaceful blanket that covers the world outside. It smelled of fire burning downstairs and of something burnt, too.
Cody threw on a sweater and a pair of socks, and shuffled downstairs. Something was definitely burnt, his senses insisted. When he walked into the kitchen, he was greeted by a ripped open carton of dried milk, a staunching smell of burnt chocolate, and a thin fog of smoke. There was cocoa powder all over the floor. Candy held out a mug of hot chocolate for him, and explained, “I accidentally burnt the milk, but on the upside, I’ve mad
