Maxwell's POV
I quickly changed in the shed, after Olivia left. Mr. Hopton's old clothes fit me surprisingly well. And they smelled clean too, like laundry detergent and sunshine.
When I entered through the back door, I found myself in a kitchen that was nothing like the magazine-perfect kitchen at home. This one was lived-in, with mismatched pot holders hanging on hooks, children's drawings stuck to the refrigerator with magnets, and the warm, incredible smell of home-cooked food.
The dining table was round - not long and formal like ours - and everyone was already seated. There was one empty chair next to Olivia, just as she'd promised.
"Oh, there you are, dear!" Mrs. Hopton said warmly as I hesitated in the doorway. "I was wondering what was keeping you." She smiled at me. "Your parents really brought you up well. Kennedy over here doesn't mind being dirty and sitting at the dinner table."
"Mum!" Kennedy protested, his ears turning red as Olivia giggled into her napkin.
