Silas is bent over the page like some sort of prodigy. Tiny, chubby hand fisted around a blue crayon, so small next to the big mountain man seated beside him. He must notice that Griffin has stopped coloring because his elbow juts out, nudging the inked arm beside him. “More fish,” he says simply, in his sugary baby voice. “Do a biiiig fish.” It’s then that Griffin drops my gaze and leans into the little boy next to him and hits him with a soft, playful sort of smile. One that jabs me right in the ovaries. “Yes, boss,” he says, with more animation than I’ve ever heard him use. “How big? Shark
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Couldn’t NOT mark this whole interaction
