“it’s my turn.”

happily, you snatch baby hannah from grayson’s hold. she wasn’t too enticed with her uncle anyways.

“you’re boring her to death, grayson, stop brooding! kiss her!”

he frowns. “I was just holding her.”

“but she’s sad, look.” you turn your body so hannah’s very happy face is in his gaze.

“she’s smiling.”

you glare and turn her back to face the other way. you lean the small of your back against the patio table, letting hannah take your index into her gummy mouth.

“are your hands washed?”

“no,” you remark sarcastically. “I just rolled around in dirt and let my hands linger.”

grayson doesn’t laugh. he doesn’t smile and he does not think that your sarcasm is humorous.

“answer my question.”