The next evening, Noah walks into the house, freshly clean-shaven. I freeze. William freezes. We’re mid-dinner at the dining table, spoons suspended in the air.
“Who is that?” I whisper, blinking at the man in front of us. A small smile tugs at Noah’s mouth when he catches our expressions.
“I don’t know,” William says, voice dead serious. Kid picks up on things quick.
“It’s a stranger,” I gasp, eyes going wide as I throw William a look. He mirrors me perfectly, eyes just as huge.
Noah rolls his eyes but walks over and pulls out a chair. “Haha. Very funny. Knock it off.”
I draw in a sharp breath. “Oh no. He’s sitting down. Oh no, he’s smiling at us.”
“Cut it out,” he says, but he’s laughing now, shaking his head. William bursts into giggles, cheeks turning red from how hard he’s
