As the door shut, Owen ran over and scrambled up on the couch so he could see out the window as his parents got in the car and drove out of the parking lot. Then he turned and stared at Carlton, his bottom lip still poking out.

Carlton stared back, his mind rapidly trying to come up with the proper protocol for dealing with an upset three-year-old. “So . . .” he said, taking a hesitant step forward. “Are you hungry?”

Owen continued to watch him in silence and Carlton shifted awkwardly, desperate for something to do. “I'm going to go make some food. In the kitchen.”

Owen's face brightened. “Dinda-saws?”

Carlton nodded, fairly certain the little boy had said “dinosaurs” in reference to the alleged chicken nuggets.

Owen hopped off the couch and ran into the kitchen. Carlton followed him, relieved the crisis seemed to have passed. Owen headed for the small kitchen table and pulled a chair out, the legs scraping against the linoleum as he pushed it over to the microwave. “I do it!” he said, climbing up on the chair and looking at Carlton expectantly.

“You sit at the table. I'll do it,” Carlton commanded, doubting the little boy's microwave operating skills.

Owen frowned and crossed his arms over his small chest. “No, I do it.”

“Look, Spencer--” Carlton stopped, remembering that he was actually talking to a three-year-old, not a grown man who acted like a three-year-old. “Owen,” he began, taking a deep breath. “I need you to get out a plate. Can you do that?” He realized he was now using the voice he used to calm suspects and traumatized victims.

To his surprise, even though Owen was neither of those things, the little boy responded. “O-tay,” he said, hopping off the chair and scooting it over a few feet. He climbed back on the chair and then from there onto the counter. As he reached up for the cupboard before he had really gained his balance, he started tipping backward, teetering dangerously on the edge of the counter.

Carlton dashed forward, hand outstretched, and steadied the little boy with a hand on his back. “Careful!” he shouted.

Owen looked back at him in surprise as if Carlton had been the one about to fall off the counter top. “I do it!”

“You're going to fall on your head is what you're going to do,” Carlton muttered, keeping a hand on the little boy's back as Owen opened the cupboard and took out a plate.

“See?” Owen said, turning toward him and brandishing a plastic plate. “Has dinda-saws onnit!”

The plate had dinosaurs on it indeed. “Very nice,” Carlton said dryly.

Then, without warning, Owen held out his arms and leaped from the counter straight at Carlton. The detective managed to catch him with a slight oomph, the plate in Owen's hand whacking him in the shoulder.

Owen giggled. “I got you!” he said, grinning.

Carlton felt the corners of his own mouth twitch in response as he set the little boy down. “Stay off the counter while I get the chicken,” he said, walking to the freezer still keeping an eye on Owen.

Owen tossed his plate on the table with a loud clatter and went over to the microwave again. “O-tay. I he'p.” He noticed the chair he'd scooted over earlier and pushed it back to the microwave before climbing on.

Carlton sighed and opened the box, going over to the table to shake some of the nuggets onto the dinosaur plate before carrying the plate over to the microwave. “Well, open it,” he said.

Owen didn't seem to mind his apparent surliness, he just looked delighted to be given the command. He stabbed a small finger at the large button and the door popped open. “See?” he cried, beaming back at Carlton. “I do it!”

Again, faced with that grin, Carlton couldn't help smiling back a little. “Yes you did.” He placed the plate inside the microwave and shut the door. Owen eagerly stabbed at the buttons before Carlton could stop him, starting up the microwave for forty minutes and nine seconds.

“Hey!” Carlton cried, hitting “cancel.”

Owen looked up at him, his bottom lip sticking out. “I he'ping you,” he said, looking genuinely hurt.

“Okay, okay,” the detective said, trying not to let the little boy's expression make him feel guilty. He'd only been saving the house from burning down. “Push this one, this one, this one again . . . Now this one.”

Owen followed his instructions carefully then leaned forward to watch his chicken nuggets. “Dey going awound,” he observed seriously.

Carlton had no reply.

Owen quickly lost interest in watching the microwave and climbed off the chair. He marched over to Carlton, the toes of his little tennis shoes touching the toes of Carlton's loafers, and looked up at him. “What you doing?”

Carlton blinked. “Um, nothing?”

“Why you doing dat?”

The detective frowned. Was this kid interrogating him? “I'm just standing here.”

“Why?”

“Because I feel like it,” Carlton growled.

Owen was undeterred. “Why?”

“Because -” Carlton broke off in a huff, realizing this conversation could go nowhere. Luckily, the microwave dinged, distracting the little boy.

With one long step Carlton reached the microwave ahead of Owen and popped the door open. He reached in and grabbed the plate amid Owen's protests.

“I do it!” he whined.

“It's hot,” Carlton explained bluntly, setting the plate on the table. “You could burn your fingers. Now sit down.”

Owen pouted but complied, climbing onto the chair. He picked up a vaguely stegosaurus-shaped chicken nugget took a single bite, and put it back down. “My tummy's full.”

Carlton stared at him. “You haven't even eaten anything yet.”

Owen frowned up at him. “I full,” he insisted.

Carlton folded his arms. “If you don't eat those we're not going to the park.”

“I eat one,” the little boy bargained.

“No, you'll eat all five.”

Owen held up three fingers. “I onwy fwee.”

“I know how old you are. Now eat the chicken nuggets.”

“I eat fwee 'cause I fwee.”

“Five.”

“Fwee.”

Carlton grimaced. “Okay, fine. Four.”

“Nooooo! Fweeeeee!”

“FOUR!” Carlton roared, losing all patience.

Owen stared at him wide-eyed. Then his bottom lip crept out and his eyes filled with tears.

Now Carlton felt bad. “Okay, okay. If you stop crying you only have to eat three.”

Owen sniffed once for good measure. “Fwee 'cause I fwee.”

Carlton slumped into the chair opposite the little boy. “Yes. Three because you're three. You better eat them before I change my mind.”

Owen smiled brightly despite the tears lingering on his eyelashes. “O-tay.” He shoved half the stegosaurus in his mouth. “Unca Wassie?” His words were even more difficult to understand when they were coming from behind a mouthful of chicken.

“What?”

“What you doing?”

Carlton buried his face in his hands. This night was going to be much longer than he'd thought.