Grace
“Uncle Eason!” Cecil cried. “You should come have cereal!”
Eason bustled in, carrying groceries and breakfast supplies. His cheerful demeanor was infectious, and his presence infused the room with an energy that was hard to resist.
“I don’t know, Ce-Ce, I think muffins—” He c****d an eyebrow at me as he looked between me and Charles. Then he grinned. "Muffins always beat cereal. Morning, Grace!"
Eason's voice was buoyant as he greeted me, his arms laden with bags.
I returned his greeting with a smile, noting the mischief in his eyes. The warmth of his energy was filling me.
"Morning, Eason. You seem unusually chipper today."
Eason's grin widened, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Oh, you know, just embracing the joy of the morning. And speaking of joy, who's this?"
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