Clyde rolled up his sleeves and moved around the kitchen, turning on the gas stove.
Micah sat at the island counter, slumped forward with his chin resting in his hand, looking at Clyde with sparkling eyes.
The faint sizzle of butter hit the pan, followed by the rich aroma of melting cheese. Clyde reached out for the bread and pressed it onto the skillet.
Darcy walked into the kitchen, arms folded across his chest. "Really? Cheese at this hour?" His tone carried disbelief and irritation.
"They were the only thing in the fridge," Clyde replied without looking back. He flipped the bread, the edges already turning golden brown. "If someone had gone down to get ingredients, I could've made better snacks for Micah."
"Why are you ordering me around? You have hands and feet, go get them yourself," Darcy replied disdainfully.
Clyde slid the grilled sandwich toward Micah and then shot an unimpressed look at Darcy.
