When I come back down the stairs, I see that Frankie is fully up on the island now, his legs crossed beneath him as he sips his coffee.
And I can’t help it. I burst out laughing as I cross the kitchen to the fridge to take out the cream. “Are you allowed up there?” I ask, sending him a grin over my shoulder.
“I don’t know,” he says, grinning at me. “Your kitchen now. You tell me, donna.”
“Please stop calling me that,” I sigh, mixing cream and then some sugar into my coffee before turning and leaning against the counter, my coffee in my hands. “It just feels…wrong somehow.”
“What do you want me to call you, then?”
I consider, my head turned a bit to the side, looking him up and down as he grins at me from his high seat. “I think I like it when you call me Bambi. Or iterations thereof.
