“Pancakes,” he says hoarsely.
“What?”
“Pancakes are dying.”
I blink.
Then smell the smoke.
“Oh my God.”
He reaches past me and turns the burner off, tossing the blackened pancake into the trash with the others. Smoke curls up from the pan in dramatic accusation.
From the hallway, August yells, “Is breakfast dying?”
Derby drops his head.
I burst out laughing.
I can’t help it. It comes out of me bright and helpless, and Derby looks at me like I have caused him physical harm.
“You think this is funny?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“My kitchen is a battlefield.”
“You killed the pancakes.”
“They knew the risks.”
August appears in the hallway, hair sticking up, Blue Rex tucked under his arm. He sniffs the air and frowns. “It smells like camping.”
Derby points at him. “That is generous, and I appreciate it.”
“Can we have cereal?”
“Yes,” Derby and I say together.
August grins. “Good. Pancakes are weird.”
Derby looks offended. “My pancakes have character.”
“They’re black.”
“That’s the character.”
August climbs into a chair and spots the bulletin on the counter before I can move it.
“What’s that?”
My blood goes cold.
Derby steps closer, blocking part of the counter with his body. Not hiding. Shielding. There is a difference, though it’s thin.
“Grown-up paper,” he says.
August frowns. “Bills?”