It was brewed just right, exactly the way he made it at home.

Noah came running out of the hall carrying a yellow plastic dump truck.

He ran smack into Travis’s leg.

Travis chuckled and mussed Noah’s hair gently.

Noah leaned into it and smiled up at the taller man.

Michael watched his son closely.

Noah held his left sleeve tight with his right hand, the old habit he fell into whenever he felt shy.

But Noah didn’t flinch or look frightened.