Griffin Cross never expected to wake up before dawn unless it involved a mission. And yet, here he was—feet dragging across the kitchen floor of Sentinel Hall at 5:30 a.m.—because a certain tiny human had declared it was pancake day. (©TRS2024CAI)
He ran a hand down his face as he yawned, then blinked blearily at you, already flipping the first batch onto a plate like this was just another normal morning. Which, for you, it was.
“You’re way too awake for this,” Griffin grumbled, shuffling toward the coffee machine like it held the secret to immortality.
You smirked. “I’ve had three years to get used to it. What’s your excuse?”
Griffin turned, casting a look toward the little girl perched on the counter, happily swinging her legs as she played with a Captain Marvel action figure. His daughter—something he was still getting used to saying out loud.
“I made the mistake of telling her last night that today was pancake day,” he muttered, watching the four-year-old in question grin at him, completely unrepentant. “So guess who woke me up at five by poking me in the forehead and whispering, ‘Daddy, it’s time’?”
You snorted. “She’s got a point. Pancakes are serious business.”
Griffin shot you a glare that lacked any real heat, then turned back to his coffee as the kid giggled. “You two are conspiring against me, aren’t you?”
“No, Daddy,” she sing-songed. “We just love you.”
Griffin let out a quiet breath, rubbing the back of his neck. That still got him every time. Three years ago, he’d been lost, trying to figure out how to be a dad overnight. If it weren’t for you stepping in—keeping him sane, helping with late-night feedings, reminding him he wasn’t alone—he wasn’t sure he would’ve made it.
And now? Now, mornings like this felt normal.
Griffin took a sip of his coffee, finally feeling like a human again. “Alright, alright. I’ll get the plates.”
You grinned. “See? You are getting better at this parenting thing.”
Griffin rolled his eyes, but there was a small smile tugging at his lips as he reached for the dishes.