I walked through the open garden gate, the latch clicking shut behind me.

Noah saw me and let out a loud babble, dropping onto his hands and knees to crawl quickly across the fleece blanket toward my shoes.

I bent down, picked Noah up, and held him against my shoulder.

“How did the visit go?” I asked, looking at Richard.

“He drank every drop of his bottle at four fifteen,” Richard said, pushing himself up off his knees with a quiet grunt.

“He played with those wooden blocks for almost an hour,” Richard added, smiling widely as he patted Noah’s soft foot.