Jonathan shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Can't you take him with you?"

Martha picked up her purse from the table. "I could, but it will be much faster without him. He tends to run away in the store."

"You can put him in the seat in the cart."

"He climbs out of it every time."

"Even if you buckle the seatbelt?"

Martha headed toward the door. "The seatbelt straps in the shopping carts are very flimsy, Jonathan, he breaks right through them."

That didn't sound right to him, but he hadn't seen it, so he couldn't argue. "Martha, I haven't—"

"You'll be fine, Jonathan. You're his dad. You should have some time to bond with him."

Jonathan grumbled. He hadn't told Martha about the real reason why he'd checked out that adoption book from the library, but he could have sworn she'd figured it out anyway. "Look, I just need a little more time—"

"It's been over a month. He's talking now, enough to let you know what he needs. You can do this."

Her eyes met his. She was giving him that look that he usually loved—the one that told him she believed in him, that she was proud of him. Usually, it made him feel like he was on top of the world. Today, it was mildly annoying.

She reached up to take his cheek in her hand, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him. "I'll be back in less than an hour."

He sighed, watching her go, then looked back at the child in the high chair. At his son. He was still in his onesie pajamas. He was adorable, and somehow that made the whole situation even more intimidating. "So, Clark—"

"Dada." Clark held up both hands.

"Mama's gone to the store for a little while, so you and I are gonna—"

"Dada!" He waved his arms.

The kid obviously wanted something, but Jonathan didn't know what. "What do you need?"

Clark wiggled his way out of the high chair and stood on the tray, legs bent and ready to jump.

"Whoa, careful there!" Jonathan caught him just in time, and set him down on the floor. "You can't fly, little guy." He should have figured that Clark lifting his arms meant he wanted to be picked up, but he was sleep-deprived and hadn't gotten to finish his coffee. "What do you want to do while Mama's at the store?"

"Play!" Clark scampered off to the staircase, where he climbed almost too fast for Jonathan to keep up. Jonathan was breathing hard by the time they got to Clark's bedroom. He went to the shelf and pulled out a puzzle box, took off the lid, then dumped all the pieces on the floor.

"Okay, we can do that." A nice quiet activity. He could handle this.

Clark pulled out another puzzle, and dumped the pieces from the one on top of the ones from the first puzzle.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Hey, hey, one at a time!" Jonathan knelt down to start picking up the pieces. They were kids' puzzles with choke-proof pieces the size of Jonathan's palm, so they'd be easy enough to sort out, but he didn't want to spend the morning doing that if he could avoid it.

Clark giggled and pulled out another puzzle, dumping out its pieces.

"No, Clark, what did I just say?" Jonathan reached for the toddler.

Clark dodged his hands and reached for yet another puzzle, shrieking with laughter.

Jonathan stood and picked up Clark, tucking him under his arm so he could pick up the rest of the puzzle boxes from the bottom shelf and place them up on the high dresser. "Okay, let's do the ones we have out." He set the kid down on the floor.

"No!" Clark darted out of his room and headed for the stairs, bouncing down them so fast that Jonathan was afraid he was going to trip.

Jonathan tried to keep up with the child, but he was a few stairs behind the entire way down. He followed Clark into the kitchen and only managed to yank him back from an electrical outlet when his fingers were six inches away.

He knelt down in front of his son, looking him right in the eyes. "Clark, we don't touch those, we talked about this."

Clark started to run away, and Jonathan grabbed his arm, pulling him back.

"Clark, look at me. Outlets are dangerous. Do we touch outlets?"

"Yes!"

"No. We don't."

Clark giggled and ran for the kitchen counter. He climbed up onto the surface and reached for the cookie jar.

"No, Clark, at least wait until after lunch—"

But Clark already had the jar open and had started eating one of the cookies. He sat on the counter, watching Jonathan and grinning while chewing.

Jonathan sighed. "Okay. But just one."

Clark reached his other hand into the cookie jar and picked up another before Jonathan could stop him, but he held out the cookie to Jonathan. "Dada?"

Jonathan chuckled and accepted the cookie. "Thanks, buddy." He propped himself up to sit on the counter beside Clark. It was quiet while they both ate. Jonathan finished before Clark did, and he went to pour milk into a sippy cup, handing it to the boy.

"Okay," Jonathan said. "We're going to have to set a few rules, little guy."

Clark swallowed his last bite of cookie. "No!" He jumped down from the counter and ran off.

This time, Jonathan didn't make it to Clark until his fingers were two inches from the outlet. He worried he wouldn't make it in time the next time, and he didn't like those odds.

"I said no." He took Clark's little hand and slapped the back of it.

Clark's eyes went very wide as he pulled his hand away.

Then he started wailing.

Jonathan had no idea whether he was in pain, or just scared. He had not hit the boy hard—his skin wasn't even pink, but he was young enough that it probably stung a bit.

"Okay, okay." He picked up the child and held him against his chest, rocking him gently. "I'm sorry, son, I didn't mean to scare you. I just don't want you to get hurt."

Clark kept crying. He buried his face in Jonathan's shoulder, and his tiny fingers gripped onto the front of Jonathan's shirt.

Jonathan rubbed his back and kissed the top of his head. "Okay, Clark. You're okay."

The boy sniffled, then wriggled away from Jonathan's grasp. This time, though, he didn't run for the staircase. He didn't run at all. He just toddled around in his pajamas, though he did keep away from the outlet.

"You want to go do those puzzles?"

Clark shook his head and wiped his eyes.

"What do you want to do?"

"High see."

Jonathan blinked. "What?"

"High see!"

Jonathan knelt down. "What's high see?"

Clark covered his eyes with his hands. "One! Two! Free!"

Oh. Hide and seek. "You want me to hide?"

"You count." He ran off.

Jonathan put a hand over his face, but he peeked through his fingers. He counted aloud to ten, then raced up the stairs, following Clark.

He hadn't seen Clark go into his own bedroom, which left the bathroom, the guest room, and the master bedroom. He heard laughter coming from the master.

He glanced in the closet, then peeked under the big oak bed that his grandfather had made. The toddler huddled in the back, grinning.

"There you are. Come on out." He reached under the bed, but Clark scooted back further.

There wasn't much space, but Jonathan laid on his stomach and scooted under the frame. It was no use—he couldn't lift his head enough to see where he was going—

And then the frame lifted up into the air.

Jonathan jumped back, sitting up. He wouldn't have believed it if he didn't see it with his own eyes.

Clark held both arms over his head, carrying the entire bed, all five hundred pounds of it, in his tiny hands.

And giggling.

Jonathan broke out in a cold sweat.