Noah's POV
The spoon clatters against the edge of the bowl as I portion out peas and mash for Oliver, trying not to overfill the plate even though I know he'll only eat about half of this. The smell of roasted chicken and potatoes clings to the air. I stab a fork into the roasted potatoes and arrange them in a neat semicircle around his chicken. Some part of me likes to think he appreciates the effort even though he's just going to feed half of it to his bib and the floor.
"No, cub," I murmur, catching Oliver's wrist before he can lick the back of his spoon. "That's gross. Mouth side only."
He giggles, smearing mashed peas across his chin instead. Logan chuckles from his seat beside Oliver and scoops up peas onto Oliver's spoon. "Open up, champ."
Oliver obeys, and Logan makes a ridiculous crossed eyed and tongue lolling face that sends the toddler into hysterics. Peas spray across the table as Oliver giggles so hard, he nearly tips his cup of water in the process.
