“No!” Connor grips my wrist, shaking his head frantically, eyes wide. “You hafta blow, Unca Em. It hot.” “Oh, right. I forgot.” “Like dis.” He blows at my cold chocolate milk, then pats my knee with a grin. “Now.” “Thanks, buddy.” I take a sip. “Mmmm. So good. Thanks, Lil.” A loud blow sounds from my left, and I look at Jaxon across the table in the playhouse, staring down at Ireland, his shirt fisted in her teensy hand as she hangs onto him for balance, yanking him forward while she blows into his teacup, except her thoughtful gesture comes with a hint of saliva. “Ohhh, yummy…” Jaxon
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