5. Maceo
Maceo
I’ve titled the spreadsheet Nutritional Incentive Mapping, though it’s really a cookie log, and Rosalie is already trying to change the numbers. She stands beside me at the kitchen island with her pink crown sliding toward one ear while I point to the mark beneath her name.
“You already had one after lunch.”
“That one had oats,” she says, as though that settles the matter. Before I can answer, she pulls a sheet of dinosaur stickers from her pocket and presses a bright triceratops onto the corner of my tablet. “This is for one more.”
Samuel runs into the kitchen before I can remove it, his socks slipping against the floor as he catches himself on the island. “I did ten jumps. I need a snack for my work.”
“Jumping off the couch doesn’t count as training.”
James comes in behind him and leans over the tablet, studying the columns with enough concentration that I know another argument is coming. “If we eat it before dinner, it isn’t after-dinner dessert.”
I look from James to Samuel, then down at Rosalie’s sticker. The log lasted less than a week before they turned it into a barter system, a training-reward program, and a debate over the meaning of dessert.
“The chart says one,” I tell them. “One means one.”
Rosalie taps the sticker. “That means one more.”
“It does not.”
“It’s a trade.”
Samuel reaches toward the cookie jar while I’m looking at her. I catch his wrist before his fingers touch the lid and set his hand back on the counter.
“You’re not helping your case.”
“I’m hungry from my jumps.”
“You ate twenty minutes ago.”
“That was food. This is fuel.”
James nods as though Samuel has made a serious contribution to the discussion, then points to the top of the spreadsheet. “You didn’t write what kind of dessert counts. You only wrote dessert.”
“I didn’t think I needed a legal definition of cookie.”
Luther enters while I’m correcting the number beside Rosalie’s name. He doesn’t interrupt or ask what the argument is about. He simply reaches past me, takes a cookie from the jar, and bites into it while reading the chart over my shoulder.
I turn my head slowly. “Luther.”
He breaks off a piece and hands it to Rosalie, who accepts it with both hands before hurrying away from the island. Samuel follows her immediately, and James closes the tablet for me as though the ruling has already been overturned.
Luther’s hand settles at the back of my neck once the children are out of reach. “I know.”
“You waited until I was looking at the chart.”
“I didn’t want to interrupt.”
His thumb moves against my skin while I watch the children divide the stolen cookie in the den.
Rosalie holds the larger piece because she supplied the sticker, Samuel claims he deserves the next one because of his training, and James has already begun explaining why Luther’s half should count against the adult column.
I peel Rosalie’s sticker from the screen, but instead of throwing it away, I press it beside the title of the log.
By the time Luca comes home, the chart has gained three more stickers, one line of Samuel’s uneven handwriting, and a red circle James insists marks a rule that needs to be reviewed. I’m clearing abandoned cups from the island when the front door opens.
Luca leaves his coat over the banister and sets his bag near the stairs, but his attention stays on the noise coming from the den. Rosalie is explaining the cookie trade to Luther, and Samuel keeps interrupting to insist that his jumps counted as work.
“Is Ember House in trouble?” I ask.
Luca’s hand pauses on the strap of his bag. “Funding is tight, but it’s manageable.”
The answer comes too quickly, and he keeps his face turned toward the den. I wait without filling the silence. After a moment, he looks at me, then toward the doorway where the children could appear at any time.
“Nicholas is helping Blossom and me build a broader plan,” he says more quietly. “He doesn’t want to write one large check and leave us dependent on him. He’s looking for several funding sources, including survivor-run groups that already support housing programs.”
“How long do you have?”
Luca’s fingers tighten around the strap. “I said it’s manageable.”
I hold his gaze, but I don’t ask again with the children only one room away. He knows I heard the deflection. When I take the bag from his shoulder and place it beside the stairs, his fingers brush mine and remain there for a moment.
“We hired someone new too,” he says. “Josie. She’s still training, but she listens well, and she asks good questions. Blossom likes her.”
“That should make the intake load easier.”
“Once she’s trained, it will.” Some of the tension leaves Luca’s shoulders as he glances toward the den again. “Blossom had her observe in the garden this week. Maya showed her a dandelion chain, and Josie asked before touching it. She hasn’t tried to rush anyone into speaking.”
I remember the name because Luca says it with relief, not because it gives me any reason for concern. Before I can return to the funding question, Samuel calls for Luca from the den, and Luca squeezes my hand once before going to him.
I follow a few minutes later with my tablet tucked beneath my arm. Rosalie has taken over the center of the rug with a stack of wedding magazines, James is building a ramp from two books and a couch cushion, and Samuel is demonstrating what appears to be the same jump he used to justify the cookie.
Luther sits on the floor with his back against the couch, one knee bent while Rosalie spreads pictures across his leg. He looks up when I enter and pats the space beside him.
I sit close enough that our shoulders touch. His hand finds the back of my neck again, fingers resting there while I reopen the chart and try to repair the damage.
“You know the log is useless now,” he says.
“It was useful until you interfered.”
“It had a dinosaur on it before I walked in.”
“That was evidence.”
“Of bribery?”
“Of organized resistance.”
Rosalie looks up from the magazines. “It was a trade.”
Luther’s mouth shifts against my temple as he presses a kiss there. “You heard her.”
I move my tablet out of his reach before he can close it again. James abandons the ramp long enough to point at the sticker beside the title.
“That one should stay.”
“It’s already staying.”
Rosalie smiles, satisfied with the concession, then returns to flipping through the wedding pages. Samuel tries another jump from the couch cushion and nearly lands on Luther’s leg. Luther catches him around the middle and sets him on the rug.
“No more jumping near people.”
“I was doing work.”
“You can work after dinner.”
Samuel considers that, then climbs into Luther’s lap instead.
Grayson appears in the den with a kitchen towel over one shoulder and waits until Luca looks up from where Samuel has pulled him onto the rug.
“Nicholas called the house looking for you. Two of the survivor-run groups agreed to review the expansion plan, and he found three smaller donors willing to discuss recurring support.”
Luca shifts Samuel more securely into his lap. “Did he send Blossom the names?”
“He sent both of you the full list. Nothing is settled, but the groups want to speak with you this week.” Grayson rests his hand briefly on Luca’s shoulder. “Nicholas thinks spreading the funding across several sources will keep any one donor from gaining too much influence.”
Luca nods, his attention already turning inward as he considers it. “That gives us somewhere to start.”
I watch the relief pass through him, small enough that the children don’t notice it. The funding conversation still isn’t finished, but Nicholas’s plan gives Luca something concrete to carry into it when we speak again.
Grayson turns toward the dining room. “Dinner’s ready.”
Rosalie moves before any of us can stand. She steps in front of the doorway with a wedding magazine held against her chest and waits until Luther stops trying to guide the boys around her.
“We didn’t finish the cake.”
She opens the magazine to a white tiered cake, then takes one of James’s toy dragons from the rug and places it on the page. “It needs pink dragons. They need pink fire too.”
Luther bends enough to inspect the picture over her shoulder. “All of them?”
Rosalie nods and moves the dragon to the top tier. “One up here and more on the sides. If a grown-up says no, they can’t help plan anymore.”
Her gaze moves around the room until Grayson agrees first, followed by Luca and Blake. Luther raises both hands in surrender while James begins choosing which of his dragons can be painted. Samuel asks whether one can breathe blue fire, but Rosalie refuses before he finishes.
I reopen the cookie log and add pink dragons and pink fire beneath the chart. Rosalie watches until I finish typing, then takes my hand and leads me toward dinner, leaving the sticker beside the title and the day’s numbers completely useless.