But there was nothing.
That night, when Brandon shuffled through the door with sawdust on his jeans, I told him about it while he unlaced his boots.
“The forks are gone. Like, all of them.”
“All of them?”
“Three left. Three, Brandon.”
He rubbed his eyes and let out a tired laugh.
“Cece, he’s five. He probably threw them in the yard. Don’t stress about it.”
“I already looked in the yard.”
“Then order more. It’s forks. It’s not a mystery.”
I wanted to push.
Something in his voice sat a half-step off the note it usually landed on. But he was so tired, and Alex was already climbing onto his lap, wrapping small arms around his neck.
I let it go.
I opened Amazon on my phone and clicked the first stainless steel set I saw. Two-day shipping. Problem solved.
“See?” Brandon said, kissing the top of Alex’s head. “Fixed.”
