Sam knew that and grabbed a box of Cheerios. “Oatmeal wil fil you up, give you energy, and put hair on your chest.”
“I’m in the kindergarten.”
Sam laughed and turned to look at his son, sitting at the bar on a tal stool, his blue eyes bright and alert. “You don’t want to be the only kid in your elementary school with a hairy chest?”
His eyes got even wider. “No!”
He took the milk out of the refrigerator and grabbed a cereal bowl. “Wel , maybe next year.”
“Maybe in sixth grade.” Conner lowered his gaze to intently study the dark blond hair growing across Sam’s chest. Then he pul ed out the neck of his pajama’s and peered inside. “Does it itch?”
“When it first grows in.” He set the bowl in front of Conner and poured the cereal.
“My nuts itch sometimes.” He rested his cheek on his fist. “But they aren’t hairy. Mom says I can’t scratch my nuts in public.”
Sam smiled. That was such a boy thing to say. Sam sometimes worried that Autumn raised his son like a girl. Made him wimpy. Good to know he thought like a boy.
“Did you wash your hands?”
He looked up from the bowl. “What?”
“You gotta wash your hands when you cook.”
Sam rol ed his eyes and moved to the sink. So much for sounding like a boy. “You obviously live with a woman.” He turned on the faucet and pumped some antibacterial soap into his palm.
“Mom yel s at Uncle Vince about it al the time.”
Good. Someone needed to yel at the idiot. Sam grabbed a paper towel and dried his hands.
“Does that hurt?”
“What?
He pointed to Sam’s bare arm. “That?”
“This?” Sam ran a finger over the heavily inked veni vidi vici tattooing his skin from the inside of his elbow to his wrist. “Nah. It did a little when I had it done.”
“What does it say?”
At one time it had said his mama’s name. Something he rarely recal ed any more. “It’s Latin and means: I came, I saw, now someone’s gonna get his butt kicked.” He wondered if Autumn had covered over his name on the inside of her wrist.
Conner laughed, showing his little white teeth. “Butt. That’s a bad word.”
“Butt? ” He purposely cleaned his language up for Conner. Always did. He shook his head and threw the paper towel away. “What do you say instead of butt?”
“Bum-bum. ”
“Bum-bum?” He was right. Yet more proof that Conner spent too much time with a woman. “Butt isn’t a bad word.”
“Mom thinks so.”
“Just because your mom’s a girl, doesn’t mean she’s always right. Bum-bum is a sissy word and wil get you beat up. Say butt instead.”
He thought it over and nodded. “I got a picture.” He jumped off his chair and ran from the kitchen. When he returned, he set a piece of white notebook paper on the bar.
“You drew it?” Sam poured cereal and milk into the bowl.
“Yeah. I’m a good drawer.” He crawled back up on the stool and pointed to two lopsided figures with yel ow hair and blue eyes. One was smal er, and it looked like they were standing on an egg. “This is you, and this is me. We’re fishin’. ”