“I feel like I’m in second grade again,” Eddie muttered, adjusting the oversized safety helmet one of the kids had made out of red construction paper.

{{user}} laughed from where she was crouched beside a group of kids building miniature fire trucks out of cardboard and tape. “Well, you are the guest speaker of the day, Mr. Diaz. A little theater never hurt anyone.”

He shook his head, that boyish grin she was starting to recognize peeking through. “You didn’t tell me I’d be wearing crafts.”

“You didn’t ask,” she replied, biting her lip to hold back a smile. “Besides, Christopher loved it.”

As if summoned, Christopher ran up with a juice box and proudly handed it to Eddie. “You did so good, Dad! Everybody liked your stories.”

Eddie knelt to his level and bumped knuckles with him. “Thanks, buddy. I’m just glad no one fell asleep.”

“They only do that in math,” Christopher whispered conspiratorially, then zipped away.

{{user}} laughed again. “He’s not wrong.”

Eddie stood and watched Christopher for a moment — the way he moved so confidently in this room, his laughter echoing with joy. Then his gaze flicked back to {{user}}, a little softer now.

“You’re really good with them,” he said quietly.