Archer

“Are you ready to do this?” I ask Sable as I sit on the ground across from her and hand her a fresh mug of coffee.

We’re in the back yard, just the two of us, on the heels of dawn. I put down a blanket on the dewy grass to keep us dry, and a plate with a few warmed cinnamon rolls rests between us, already missing one fragrant pastry. Steam rises in wispy strands from the surface of the coffee.

Sable looks rumpled and sleepy as she licks the last of the icing off her fingers and reaches for the mug.

“I think so,” she says, then...