"That he is. Sweet like his Ma," Tucker commented. "And the more he runs around, the more he'll be followin' in my footsteps in no time. Postmaster Rocco!" Hefting the little boy into the air a bit, Tucker smiled and set his son back down.
"Did you need help with dinner or anything? Anything around the house?" Cooking was certainly not Tucker's thing. Not at all. He was decent with housework but was better at fixing things most of the time. Their house hadn't fallen over after all.