The Coven, Monday
No stuffed animals today, as they'd all been ferried back to the house in some vaguely surreptitious manner last week. Instead, up at the front of the restaurant there was just Sam and a notebook, and a pencil whose eraser end was getting very, very, very chewed up as he attempted to draft some kind of very cranky letter to the Olympic committee about reinstating softball, because dammit, he wanted the girls to have a chance to do that someday.
(It wasn't that he wanted them to go into softball, expressly; he'd have been perfectly happy with them going into basketball, fencing, swimming, anything but beach volleyball really because between himself and Cole, those uniforms were going to end up in someone getting hurt. He just wanted them to have that option too.)
You'd think he didn't think about anything else, these days, or something.
(It wasn't that he wanted them to go into softball, expressly; he'd have been perfectly happy with them going into basketball, fencing, swimming, anything but beach volleyball really because between himself and Cole, those uniforms were going to end up in someone getting hurt. He just wanted them to have that option too.)
You'd think he didn't think about anything else, these days, or something.