My daughter is the coolest

This morning Sophie and I woke up and headed to the kitchen, our normal routine. Sometimes, if it's early enough, we both look at the clock to see how much time we have, and creep out of the house without waking anyone. We head to the coffee shop.

We both get excited at the thought, strange because I used to spend so much time at coffee shops, one in every town I've ever lived. Just me and a paper. But now it's something we do together, something that's ours. Sophie gets a cinnamon roll and eats the inside first, and I get the largest coffee they have. Her milk has a top like mine, and we sit and talk as she licks the icing off of her fingers.

This morning she asked me, "Daddy, how old do I look?" I know the answer. "Seven," I say, meaning it. She smiles and says "You look 29. How old are you?" Almost 38, I tell her. "Oh, you look 39." And I fall in love with her all over.