Emma's POV
I taught him about bread for two hours.
Not literally. We don't have dough or a kitchen scale or the right flour, so it's all paper and talking and my hands moving through explanations while he sits across the island and listens like I'm saying something worth recording.
That's the thing about him I keep returning to. He doesn't listen the way most people listen, waiting for the pause where they can speak. He listens like the information is actually going somewhere inside him, being filed, becoming part of how he understands things.
It makes me want to tell him everything I know.
Every hard-won thing. Every failure taught me something. Every version of wrong before I found right.
I've never wanted that with anyone before.
At nine I run out of paper and he gets more withou
