He knew something was wrong when he pulled into the garage and Mrs. Jamieson's car wasn't there. He'd finished early in the studio, but even so, it was too late for Freddie to be at her playgroup, or out in the park, and he knew she didn't have anything scheduled because he double-checked the calander every morning before he left.

When he unlocked the door there was a familiar deep voice, reading Make Way For Ducklings with a slow Southern drawl.

"Daddy!" Freddie cried, and came running to meet him in the hallway. She always heard him come home.

"Hey, darling," Nick said, scooping her up and peppering her face with kisses. She giggled and squirmed and pressed lollipop-sticky lips to his cheek.

"Uncle Kevin's here," she said.

"I know," Nick said.

"You know *everything*, Daddy." Freddie wriggled out of his arms and tucked her hand into his, tugging him towards the living room. "We're reading a story. There's all these baby ducks, and cars and stuff, and they have to cross the *street*, and the mommy duck is trying to watch all of them. Don't worry though, I asked Uncle Kevin and he said the babies don't die." Freddie pulled to a halt in front of Kevin, climbing back into his lap and settling in. "Right, Uncle Kevin?"

"Right," he said.

"I'll tell you what," Nick said. "Why don't you and Uncle Kevin finish reading your story, and I'll go make us some dinner?"

"Are you sure you won't miss the story?" Freddie asked, her nose scrunching up.

Nick kissed the top of her head. "I'm sure."

He went into the kitchen, and started cutting broccoli to the sound of Kevin, telling his daughter about ducklings.