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“Anytime.” He looks past me toward the stairs, amusement already forming on his face. “Good luck.”

The idiot leaves before I can respond.

“Morning, Pen,” I say, closing the door.

Aspen climbs onto one of the kitchen stools. “Is Blair here?”

“She is, but she’s still sleeping, so maybe keep your voice down a little.”

Her brows pinch together. “Is she sick?”

I stop halfway to the coffee machine. “No. Why?”

“Why is she still sleeping?”

Fuck. How do I explain a hangover to a six-year-old?

“She needed some extra sleep after teaching all of you this week,” I explain, hoping she’ll accept that and move on.

“Oh, okay.” Aspen nods thoughtfully. “Did she have the tequila drink last night?”

Well, there goes that plan.

I turn around slowly. “First of all, how do you know that word?”

“Aunt G said Blair likes tequila more than she likes juice boxes.”

Aspen folds her hands on the counter, clearly nowhere near finished with this fucking conversation.

“Okay. First, Aunt G exaggerates. A lot. Second, don’t mention tequila around Blair today.”

“Why?”

“Because Aunt G likes causing trouble, and I’d like Blair to keep whatever dignity she has left.”

“What’s dignity?” Aspen asks, her little face screwing up in confusion.

A sleepy voice comes from behind me.

“Something I apparently lost last night.”

I turn to find Blair standing at the bottom of the stairs wearing my T-shirt. Her hair is piled messily on top of her head, and she looks like she’s been personally victimized by daylight.

Aspen gasps. “Blair!”

“Morning, sunflower,” Blair murmurs.

Aspen climbs off the stool and races over. Blair catches her, wrapping both arms around her before pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“You smell like Daddy,” Aspen observes.

Blair looks at me over Aspen’s shoulder. “Unfortunately.”

“Careful.” I point at her.

She gives me a weak smile. “Coffee first. Threats later.”

I turn toward the coffee machine. “Coffee, water and something greasy, I imagine.”