"You got the face of a weeping cherub and you're gonna say I ain't allowed to call you kid?" He arched an amused eyebrow at him, gesturing with a fork.

"What? Hell, I don't know. It ain't the same, I know, but - flyin' the Roci - sometimes it feels like she's in my head. Or I'm in hers. Like she knows what I'm gonna do even before I do it." He paused, looking down at his food, and gave a rolling shrug. "Hell, I think it sounds romantic."