Archive of Our Own

When Chris first brought up the idea of getting a part-time job, it was after dinner one night, sitting at the table with his homework spread out and Buck pretending to help while mostly doodling silly sketches in the margins of his notebook.

"I was thinking," Chris started, casual in a way that immediately made both Buck and Eddie pause. Nothing good had ever come out of a casual "I was thinking" with a Buckley-Diaz.

"Thinking about what?" Eddie asked, wary.

"Getting a job."

Buck's pencil clattered off the table. "A job?!"

Chris nodded, trying to look older and more responsible than the sixteen-year-old boy sitting barefoot at the kitchen table. "Yeah. Just part-time. I want to have my own money. You know... for movies, and stuff. Ice cream. I don't wanna keep asking you guys all the time."

Eddie frowned, a tiny line appearing between his brows. "You don't have to worry about that, mijo. We don't mind helping."

"I know!" Chris said quickly. "It's not because you wouldn't help. I just... I want to try doing things myself."

Buck, meanwhile, was still reeling, eyes suspiciously shiny. "He's getting old," he whispered dramatically. "Our boy is growing up. I’m not ready. Eddie, I’m not ready."

Eddie kicked him gently under the table, but his heart was heavy too, tangled with pride and a pinch of guilt. Had he made Chris feel like he had to earn everything? Had he passed down the pressure of being "the man of the house" without meaning to?

Buck, oblivious to Eddie’s internal battle, leaned forward eagerly. "Where were you thinking of working?"

Chris perked up. "At Pan de Oro. You know, the bakery a few blocks away? Mrs. Jiménez said I could start next week if you let me."

They all knew Pan de Oro well — it had been part of their lives almost as long as they had Buck coming over to this house. Whenever there was a birthday, a celebration, a rough day that needed a cookie to fix it, they ended up there. Mr. and Mrs. Jiménez, who ran the bakery, were a familiar sight behind the counter, always smiling, always welcoming.

Mr. Jiménez was the artistic one, a pastry chef who treated cakes like canvases. His sculptures — be they buttercream roses or fondant dragons — were legendary in the neighborhood. Mrs. Jiménez, on the other hand, was the heart of the kitchen: she baked bread, cookies, pastries, anything that filled the air with warm, homey smells.

Their daughter, Lucía, was a few years older than Chris. She had taken a sabbatical after high school to figure things out and had ended up staying almost 3 years longer than expected, helping her parents run the bakery and keeping the place's finances and customer service organized. It was actually Lucía who started the "guess the total" game with Chris during his visits, challenging his math skills with wide smiles and teasing stakes ("Winner gets a free cookie!")

Recently, Lucía had announced she was officially leaving for college — she’d fallen in love with economics and wanted to pursue it properly. It was bittersweet for her parents, who were incredibly proud but also terrified of managing everything without her.

It made perfect sense that when Chris, having stopped over on his way home from a neighboring house, shyly asked if they needed any help, they jumped at the chance.

"They said I could mostly work afternoons and weekends," Chris continued, excitement making his words rush out. "Mostly running the register, helping organize orders. They’re teaching me some stuff so I can cover when it gets busy."

It wasn’t needed — not with Eddie and Buck both stable in their jobs, two incomes in the home, both of them in a good strike health-wise (Buck touches wood every time they even thought about it, everytime Eddie tells him to stop being superstitious but with so much fondness that could very much cause Buck’s next near death experience) — but Chris didn’t want it to be about necessity. He wanted independence. Growth. A little piece of life he could call his own.

Eddie still hesitated, worry eating at him. He didn’t want Chris to feel burdened. But Buck reached across the table, squeezing his wrist gently, grounding him.

"He wants to do this," Buck said softly. "Let him."

After a long moment, Eddie nodded.

Chris whooped, grinning, and Buck whooped too just for the hell of it, and Eddie had to laugh, shaking his head at both of them.

The bakery was perfect.

It was small, cheerful, with walls painted in soft yellows and blues, and a tiny chalkboard that announced daily specials in Lucía’s neat handwriting. Every morning, the air smelled of fresh bread and sugar, and in the afternoons, sunlight poured through the front windows, making the little glass cases sparkle.

Mr. Jiménez was still mostly focused on cakes — sometimes coming out from the kitchen dusted with flour, humming under his breath — while Mrs. Jiménez handled the oven schedule, the cookies, and the warm loaves lined up behind the counter. Chris fell into place easily, helping customers, learning how to handle custom orders, and getting coached in customer service by Lucía herself during her last few weeks.

"You’ll be fine," she told him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "You already beat me half the time at guessing totals. You’re gonna do great."

His first day went smoothly, a blur of ringing up pastries, offering samples, memorizing the products on sale that they change each day .

When Buck and Eddie showed up to pick him up after his first shift — because neither of them could pretend they weren’t absolutely dying to see him in action — Chris was standing proudly behind the counter, wearing a crisp white apron and a tiny name tag that Lucía had made for him in glittery gold letters.

"My boy," Buck said emotionally, snapping a picture with his phone before Eddie could stop him.

"Don't embarrass him," Eddie muttered, elbowing Buck even as he smiled, chest full to bursting.

"Too late," Chris deadpanned, though his ears were a little pink.

Mr. Jiménez chuckled from the back. "Proud dads?"

"You have no idea," Buck said, voice thick with love.

On the way home, Chris chattered about his shift the entire time — how Mr. Jiménez was terrible at remembering prices ("but amazing at frosting!"), how Mrs. Jiménez made the best chocolate chip cookies ("better than store-bought, Buck, I swear"), how Lucía promised that one slow afternoon he could pick the playlist, how each customer treated him.

"You're sure it’s not too much?" Eddie asked, still a little worried.

Chris shook his head, practically glowing with pride. "It's perfect. And now I can even buy you guys ice cream sometimes."

Buck clutched his chest again. "He's gonna kill me. Our son is gonna actually kill me with feelings."

"You’re ridiculous," Eddie said, fondness radiating off him.

Chris just rolled his eyes and walked a little faster ahead of them — home stretching ahead, full of love, embarrassing moments, and the scent of fresh baked cookies tucked into a little paper bag in his backpack.

Nothing could top this.

Not even a paycheck.

At first, Mr. and Mrs. Jiménez hadn’t thought much of it.

Chris was polite, responsible, good with numbers, and great with customers — the perfect part-time addition to their little bakery now that Lucía had left for college. 

It was only after a few weeks of watching Christopher Buckley-Diaz — because that’s how he had introduced himself, and how he wrote his name on order sheets — that the questions started.

Or more accurately, the bets.

They were careful, of course.

Their debates only happened once Chris had gone home or was far enough in the back kitchen that he couldn’t overhear.

Never in front of the boy himself. That would have been rude.

But in the privacy of the kitchen, while shaping dough or whipping icing, the arguments raged.

“He’s definitely Eddie’s,” Mr. Jiménez declared for the thousandth time one evening while smoothing fondant over a custom cake order. “You can tell. Mannerisms, temperament, everything. He’s Eddie’s through and through.”

Mrs. Jiménez snorted from where she was kneading brioche dough on the big wooden counter. "¿Estás loco? Have you looked at that boy? He’s a copy-paste of Buck. Same smile. Same dimple. Same way of waving his hands when he gets excited explaining something."

Mr. Jiménez waved a spatula at her. "Mannerisms are learned while growing up, with the raising. That’s Eddie’s patience, Eddie’s quiet thinking."

Mrs. Jiménez slapped the dough down harder than necessary, flour puffing up into the air. "You’re seeing what you want to see. It’s Buck’s eyes. Buck’s nose. Buck’s everything. "

And despite their endless, whispered arguments, they both adored Chris. But they also adored collecting clues like it was a detective case.

When Chris mentioned, “Back in Texas, the bakeries were all about pies and cobblers,” Mr. Jiménez all but preened.

"Texas! You hear that? Texas! Eddie’s side, no question." He told his wife the second a customer walked in and he could ran towards her in the kitchen.

When Chris recounted how "Buck always has been in charge of bake sales. He made this giant cupcake tower once that sold out in, like, twenty minutes."

Mrs. Jiménez practically slammed her hand down on the counter in victory the second he left. "You hear that? Buck! BAKE SALES! "

Still, they never asked Chris outright.

It wasn’t their place. And honestly, their private game was more fun this way — a friendly, endless stalemate played between cinnamon rolls and birthday cakes.

At the end of the day, it didn’t really matter.

What mattered was how both dads looked at Chris when they came to pick him up on the later shifts — whether it was Buck walking in, light and messy and eager, arms open for a hug, or Eddie, steady and proud and carrying a water bottle Chris forgot, always asking how the day went.

Both of them loved him like there was never any question of whose he was. And that was better proof of family than any biology could ever offer.

Still, as they closed the bakery one quiet night, Mr. Jiménez stacked chairs while saying, “You’ll see, Carmen. One day Chris will slip up and say he’s originally a Diaz.”

She just laughed, flipping the light switch off with a flour-dusted hand. "You’re dreaming, viejo. He’s a Buckley through and through. I’m just waiting for you to admit it."

They left it at that — the war unresolved, but their bakery filled with the sweet, warm scent of family nonetheless.

Their closest end came close to 5 months after Chris started.

It was a slow, warm afternoon when Mr. and Mrs. Jiménez finally got what they considered their "smoking gun" proof.

A family came into the bakery — a grandmother and her two grandkids — speaking mostly Spanish between themselves, the woman struggling a little with the menu and apologizing for her English.

Without missing a beat and before either of the owners could jump in, Chris smiled brightly and switched into Spanish.

Clear, confident, polite Spanish. Not awkward classroom Spanish — good Spanish, the kind spoken at home, the kind flavored with the ease of familiarity.

Mrs. Jiménez nearly dropped a tray of palmiers from how smug her husband looked.

" No se preocupe, está bien, dígame ¿Qué estaba buscando? " Chris asked warmly, taking the woman through the options, explaining the pastries, giving patient, careful descriptions. He even cracked a small joke about the "conchas" being dangerously addictive if you weren't careful.

The transaction went perfectly. The woman left smiling, the kids happily nibbling cookies, and Chris returned behind the counter to clean up like nothing extraordinary had happened.

Mr. Jiménez turned to his wife, a victorious gleam in his eye.

" ¿Viste eso? " he said under his breath. "Only Eddie’s son would speak Spanish like that. ¡Te lo dije! "

Mrs. Jiménez only huffed, folding her arms stubbornly, but even she looked a little rattled.

It was impressive, she had to admit.

Still. It wasn’t over yet.

The afternoon wore on. They restocked pastries, tidied up, and Chris handled the slow trickle of customers like a pro.

And then, just as they were thinking of closing up for the day, the door jingled and in walked Evan Buckley himself — all tall, golden, and wearing his firefighter uniform with a sheepish grin.

"Hey, kid!" Buck called out, heading for the counter. "We got a call nearby and uh, I proposed to get snacks, since apparently your bakery is the best."

Chris beamed, coming around the counter. 

"You just wanted to check on me," he said simply, making Buck chuckle.

"Maybe," Buck said, ruffling Chris’s hair affectionately. "How's the day been?"

Chris shrugged. "Good! I even had to use my Spanish with a customer."

Buck’s face lit up, proud and teasing all at once. "Oh yeah? How'd that go? Getting a little rusty yet?"

"Not at all," Chris said, grinning.

Buck laughed, tapping a finger on the counter. "Alright, smart guy. You think you’re so good? Take my whole order in Spanish only. Let’s see if you can keep up."

And just like that, Buck rattled off his entire order — pastries for Bobby, Hen, Eddie, Ravi, Chimney, and himself — in perfect, natural, unbroken Spanish.

The kind of Spanish that spoke of years of casual practice, of easy conversations at home, of laughing corrections and fluent understanding.

Mr. Jiménez, who had been proudly wiping down the espresso machine while overhearing every word, stiffened.

His victorious smirk faded.

He stared at Buck like the man had personally stolen Christmas.

Mrs. Jiménez caught his eye, barely holding back her own laughter at the crushed look on his face.

Chris, oblivious to the brewing drama, just grinned wider and matched Buck word for word, writing down the entire order in Spanish, confirming everything back without missing a beat.

"See?" Buck said proudly, clapping him on the back when they were done. "Told you all that studying would pay off. Remind me later — we should call your bisabuela, keep you sharp."

Chris agreed brightly, going off to pack the order.

Meanwhile, behind the counter, Mrs. Jiménez patted her husband's shoulder, barely containing her glee.

" Lo siento, viejo, " she said, not sounding sorry at all. " Me parece que eres el que está equivocado. "

Mr. Jiménez only groaned quietly and muttered under his breath while grabbing another tray to clean.

Defeat had never tasted so bitter — or so full of butter and sugar.

A few days after Buck’s Spanish surprise (and Mr. Jiménez’s crushing defeat), things seemed to settle down again at the bakery.

Chris continued working his part-time hours, winning over more customers with his easy smile, while Mr. and Mrs. Jiménez maintained their good-natured (if very secret) debate about which dad he truly resembled more.

They thought they’d reached a silent truce.

Until they walked in.

Buck and Eddie, together, arriving a little after noon, Buck holding the door open dramatically for Eddie with an exaggerated bow that made Chris roll his eyes fondly behind the counter.

They ordered some bread to make sandwiches for dinner first — that was normal.

But then Buck clapped his hands together, bright-eyed, and said, looking past Chris to where the owner was, "Actually, we’re here for something else too. We need to order a custom cake."

"Sure thing!" Mrs. Jiménez said, pulling out a notepad. "What’s the occasion?"

"It’s for my niece’s birthday," Buck explained, leaning on the counter with a grin.

"And Maddie’s gonna meet us here," Eddie added, glancing at his phone. "She said she’s five minutes away."

Mrs. Jiménez blinked.

Niece?

Which one of them had a sister?

Had they missed something?

What was going on?

Before they could spiral too hard, the bakery door jingled again and in came a very pregnant Maddie Buckley.

She was glowing, with brown hair swept into a bun, warm brown eyes, and the kind of smile that immediately made people feel at home.

"Sorry I’m late!" Maddie said, making a beeline for Buck and giving him a tight hug.
"Chim looking for a place to park the car, they left me in the door and will be here any second"

Mrs. Jiménez’s sharp eyes clocked it immediately: Maddie looked like she could be Eddie’s sister.

Definitely Eddie's , she thought, the brown hair, the brown eyes — the resemblance was there, if you squinted just a little.

Meanwhile, Buck's blue eyes and lighter hair were a far cry from Maddie's features.

But then Maddie cheerfully said, "I'm Maddie, Buck's sister. I hope is no problem we came today!"

And bam! the floor shifted under Mrs. Jiménez’s feet.

Wait, what?

Mr. Jiménez frowned too, momentarily shaken in his faith.

"No, not at all," he said, trying to not show his internal turmoil too much.

If she was Buck’s sister — if that was true — then maybe Chris really was Buck’s biological son after all?

The whole world tilted sideways for a second as they both reexamined their entire theories from the start.

Maybe Mrs. Jiménez was right, he thought bitterly. After all, there was definitely more Buck family mentioned than Diaz family, even in passing conversations. Maybe it was Buck who had been there since the beginning.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Jiménez felt a prickle of doubt.

Maybe brothers and sisters didn’t have to look alike.

Maybe the same thing applied to parents and kids too.

Maybe Eddie and Chris were father and son, despite the blond hair and blue eyes...

It was all very confusing.

But before either of them could say anything, the door jingled again — and this time Jee-Yun and Chimney walked in.

Jee ran straight to Buck with a squeal, and Chimney jogged after her, apologizing for being late.

And when Mrs. Jiménez got a look at Jee-Yun — black hair, dark eyes, a carbon copy of Chimney in toddler form — she snapped back to reality.

Mrs. Jiménez threw up her hands, turning toward her husband as she muttered loud enough for only him to hear, " They spend 9 months on the mother’s belly but they always look like the father, let me tell you that. "

Before he could even respond, she was marching toward the counter to help Maddie with the cake order, leaving her husband blinking after her.

Chris, meanwhile, packed up a tray of leftover pastries for Jee-Yun (on the house, of course), while Buck and Eddie leaned against the counter, whispering about cake flavors like it was a life-or-death operation.

If there was one thing Mr. and Mrs. Jiménez had learned by now, it was this:

They would never truly solve this family mystery.

And honestly?

It was kind of perfect that way.

It was a slow afternoon at the bakery. 

The hum of the fridge and the soft sounds of baking in the back filled the quiet space. Chris sat at the corner table, his homework spread out before him, occasionally pausing to tap his pencil thoughtfully against the page.

Mr. Jiménez, wiping down the counter for the umpteenth time, glanced over at Chris, who was absorbed in his work. 

They had days like this before, after big rushes there was always an hour or two of no customers, and they had told Chris he could do his homework if he had any on those times, so nothing was wrong. 

But his curiosity was eating at him.

Clearing his throat casually, he said, "So, Chris... Do you, uh... get along well with your dads?"

Chris didn’t look up from his paper, responding with a brief, "Mhm."

A beat of silence.

Mr. Jiménez nodded, pretending to be absorbed in his task. “And, uh… which one do you think you’re more like?”

Chris paused, as if considering the question, but then just shrugged, still focused on his work. “Both.”

"Right, right," Mr. Jiménez murmured, wiping the counter a little harder than necessary. "I mean, with your— uh, with your family... Do you think you take after one more than the other?"

Chris shifted in his seat, then shrugged again. "Maybe."

Mr. Jiménez hesitated, trying to hide his interest. “Just curious, do you spend more time with one of them? You know, when they’re not working?”

Chris didn’t look up, still scribbling away in his notebook. “Not really.”

After a few more moments of awkward silence, Mrs. Jiménez emerged from the kitchen, catching the look of confusion on her husband’s face. She raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment, knowing better than to interrupt his thoughts.

With a grin, she handed Chris a warm chocolate chip cookie. “For being such a good worker.”

Chris didn’t seem to mind, thanking her distractedly, then taking a bite and going right back to his homework.

Mr. Jiménez continued cleaning, his eyes glancing over at Chris, trying to piece together something—anything—that could give him a clue. But Chris didn’t help.

Finally, Mrs. Jiménez patted her husband’s shoulder sympathetically, watching him struggle with his unanswered questions. " It’s not that complicated, viejo, " she said, smirking. " Sometimes kids just don’t talk about these things. "

Mr. Jiménez sighed, muttering to himself, “We’ll never figure it out.”

Mrs. Jiménez chuckled softly, leaning over the counter to grab a cookie herself. “Maybe someday we’ll get the story. Until then, let’s just enjoy the cookies.”

Chris was blissfully unaware of the ongoing debate, lost in his homework and the comfort of his routine.

The bakery buzzed with excitement. Mrs. Jiménez was piping colorful icing onto a row of cupcakes while Mr. Jiménez hung a hand-painted "¡Bienvenida, Lucía!" banner above the entrance. After almost a year away for college, their daughter was finally visiting for a whole week, and they were determined to celebrate properly.

“Chris,” Mrs. Jiménez called, waving a piping bag in one hand, “when you finish that tray, could you come here a second?”

Chris, wiping his hands on his apron, nodded and joined them behind the counter.

“We’re throwing a little party for Lucía,” she said with a big smile. “Nothing too big, just some food, music, catching up. We’d love if you could come, and you’re welcome to bring some family too!”

“Yeah, whoever you want,” Mr. Jiménez added. “Parents, cousins, friends—you pick.”

Chris smiled. "I'll ask my dads. I'll be there for sure, though."

Mrs. Jiménez beamed. “Perfect! It’ll be Saturday evening. You’ll love it; lots of food.”

Chris nodded, pulling out his phone almost immediately to text Buck and Eddie about the invite.

It only took a few minutes for his phone to buzz with their replies—and a question.

Chris went back to the counter, a little sheepish. "Uh, my dads wanted to know if they could bring some more people?" he asked.

Mr. and Mrs. Jiménez exchanged a glance, curious but not opposed. “Of course! Family is family.”

Chris, feeling the need to explain, added, "It's just... it's kinda a lot of people."

“How many is a lot?” Mrs. Jiménez asked, amused.

Chris scratched the back of his head. "Well, Buck's captain is kind of like his dad now. After... stuff, Buck's real parents aren't really in the picture anymore. So Cap and his wife, who’s a cop, are like... his second parents."

Mrs. Jiménez blinked, trying to keep up, while Mr. Jiménez leaned in, fascinated.

"And then there's Maddie, Jee and Chimney. They’ll probably come too. Oh, and Hen and Karen—Hen’s another firefighter—and their kids. They’re basically family too. Maddie and Chim even fostered Hen and Karen’s daughter for a little while, so, you know, everyone’s kind of connected.”

The Jiménez stood in stunned silence for a second, trying to piece together the complex family web Chris was casually describing.

"So... not just your inner circle," Mr. Jiménez said slowly.

Chris shook his head with a little smile. "Yeah, not really. It's more like... my whole family. The ones we chose."

Mrs. Jiménez’s heart warmed at that, even if she was still slightly overwhelmed at the mental guest list forming in her head.

"Well," she finally said, laughing, "it wouldn’t be a party without a full house, would it?"

Mr. Jiménez grinned, throwing an arm around his wife’s shoulder. "The more, the merrier!" he agreed, even as he mentally added another few tables to their setup.

As Chris went back to prepping pastries with a little more spring in his step, the Jiménez exchanged another look.

"If you think about it," Mrs. Jiménez whispered, "it explains a lot about him, doesn’t it?"

Mr. Jiménez nodded. "Yeah. Makes sense now."

Still, he added with a grin, “But he’s definitely Eddie’s kid.”

Mrs. Jiménez shook her head in fond exasperation, muttering, " Veremos el sábado. "

Because somehow, with this big, chaotic, sprawling family Chris had, she had the feeling they were about to get a lot more answers—and maybe even more questions.

Saturday evening arrived with a cheerful rush, the bakery quickly transforming into a little party haven. Strings of lights twinkled overhead, the smell of sweet bread and sugar filling the warm air.

Chris came early to help out, and Lucía hugged her parents tightly, already chatting excitedly about seeing everyone again.

And then the wave came.

First Buck and Eddie appeared, big grins on their faces, Buck juggling a large bag that clinked suspiciously.

"I hope you don't mind!" Buck said cheerfully, setting the bag on a corner table. "I bartended in Peru before I was a firefighter, figured I could make a few drinks worth celebrating!"

Mr. and Mrs. Jiménez blinked at each other.
Bartended? In Peru?
Before firefighting??
That definitely didn't scream "young father with responsibilities" to them.

Mrs. Jiménez laughed and waved him off. "As long as you don't get the kids drunk!"

Right after them, Hen and Karen appeared, Denny and Mara excitedly beside them. Then, a lone Ravi. 

Maddie and Chimney came with Jee-Yun holding onto her dad’s hand, and not long after that, Bobby and Athena walked in, arms full of homemade dishes to contribute.

The bakery, once cozy and airy, suddenly buzzed with laughter, greetings, and way too many inside jokes flying across the room.

Mr. and Mrs. Jiménez just stood there, awestruck. 

So many people. So much warmth. And somehow, every single one of them seemed family .

Chris, looking like he couldn’t be happier, helped introduce everyone before getting pulled aside by Denny, both of them entering a serious conversation with Lucía.

The Jiménez mingled too, and it wasn’t long before Mr. Jiménez found himself chatting with Hen near the snack table.

"They grow up too fast, don’t they?" Mr. Jiménez said, watching Chris and Denny plotting something near the mini pastries.

Hen laughed warmly. "Way too fast. Seems like yesterday we were worried about Denny losing his first tooth, and now he’s talking about college applications with Chris."

Mr. Jiménez blinked. "They’re thinking about college already?"

Hen nodded, sipping her drink. "They’re planners, those two. Always have been. Ever since Eddie joined the firehouse back in 2018, Chris and Denny have become fast friends."

Mr. Jiménez smiled wide, feeling very validated. Of course Eddie was the dad. There was just no other option.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Jiménez found herself chatting with Maddie over near the coffee corner, where Jee-Yun was happily eating a cookie the size of her head.

“She’s beautiful,” Mrs. Jiménez said warmly.

"Thank you," Maddie beamed. "Pregnancy the second time around was still a shock, though." She paused, laughing a little to herself. "Honestly, I still can’t believe Buck’s a dad sometimes. I mean, I know he is. I see it. But I guess it’s hard to believe sometimes that I'm not the only one who grew up."

"But you guys have such a beautiful family," Mrs. Jiménez said warmly.

Maddie laughed. "Yeah, it's just crazy to me sometimes. I mean, when I found out that Buck had gotten someone else pregnant — and was a dad! It was such a shock. I mean, we grew up together, but you never really believe it until you see it, you know?"

Mrs. Jiménez's eyes widened.

Buck got someone pregnant?

So Chris is his biological son?

The evening wore on, cozy and buzzing.

At one point, Bobby called for everyone to raise a glass.

“To Lucía, for being smart enough to leave for college and brave enough to come back for a week!”

Everyone cheered, clinking glasses and hugging Lucía, who rolled her eyes but smiled wide.

Afterward, as the party mellowed out into soft conversations and laughter, Mr. and Mrs. Jiménez found themselves standing near Bobby and Athena, who were reminiscing about the early days of the firehouse.

“You see Buck and Eddie now, so in love," Bobby said, laughing, "you wouldn’t even guess they hated each other when they met on their very first shift together back in 2018.”

Both Jiménezes froze, staring at him.

Bobby kept talking, unaware of the solidification of a theory he’d dropped into their brains like a bomb. The connections they had so carefully built solidifying in their minds.

Once the party finally wound down — hugs and thank yous given, kids bundled up and carried out, leftover pastries packed into boxes — the bakery was quiet again, save for Lucía helping tidy up.

Mr. and Mrs. Jiménez retreated behind the counter, like secret agents ready to debrief.

“I figured it out,” Mr. Jiménez said immediately.

“I solved it,” Mrs. Jiménez countered.

They stared.

Narrowed eyes.

Silent, battle-ready.

"You first," Mr. Jiménez said.

Mr. Jiménez leaned in, lowering his voice. "Hen said Eddie joined in 2018 and Chris and Denny became friends then. Chris was already around. Eddie is the biological dad. He’s the Latino one, Chris knows Spanish perfectly — it fits."

Mrs. Jiménez smirked. "Wrong. Maddie said Buck got someone pregnant, and Buck clearly thinks of Chris as his kid. Plus, Bobby said Buck and Eddie met in 2018. Meaning they weren’t even friends before that. Buck must have had Chris first, and Eddie became the second dad later."

Mr. Jiménez frowned. "No way. Buck bartended in Peru before firefighting. You don’t do that with a baby back home. If he was a dad already, he wouldn't have done that."

Mrs. Jiménez crossed her arms triumphantly. "Or maybe he left before Chris was born!"

Lucía, who had been sweeping nearby, groaned dramatically.

"You guys are still trying to figure it out?" she said, laughing. "You're gonna give yourselves wrinkles."

They both turned to her, demanding, "Do you know?"

Lucía only shrugged, grinning devilishly. "Maybe. Maybe not. You could just... ask Chris, you know."

Mr. and Mrs. Jiménez exchanged another look, scandalized.

And simultaneously said: "Where’s the fun in that?"

Lucía laughed, shaking her head as she walked away.

The mystery would live another day. And honestly? It was sweeter that way.

The clock blinked 10:47 PM. The bakery smelled of sugar, flour, and exhaustion.

A big batch of dough had been ruined earlier that afternoon — a broken mixer, a spill no one caught until it was too late — so the Jiménez and Chris had spent hours reworking everything to prep for the next day.

Chris had insisted on staying to help. He wasn’t the type to leave anyone hanging.

By the time they finally turned the lights off, the streets were almost empty.  The air was cool, a gentle breeze chasing them down the sidewalk.

Chris usually left on his own, but if they ended late for some reason, one or both of his dads came over. This time, however, the firefighters were halfway a 24 hour shift.

“Chris, we’re walking you home,” Mrs. Jiménez said, no room for argument.

Chris looked like he wanted to insist he was fine — he lived maybe four blocks away — but he just nodded, too tired to fight it.

They walked through the quiet streets together, chatting about the next day's pastries, a new recipe Lucía wanted them to try, and how Lucía had promised she’d FaceTime them once she got back to college.

When they reached his front door, Chris fished out his keys.

Then paused, thoughtful.

"You wanna come in for a bit?" he offered. "There's... a lot of food. Buck made a ton of meal prep stuff. He always does too much."

Mr. and Mrs. Jiménez exchanged a glance.

They were tired. And a little hungry. And honestly? A little curious.

"Only if you're sure," Mr. Jiménez said.

Chris nodded and pushed the door open.

The house was warm and lived-in. Shoes by the door. A faint smell of something savory still lingering in the air. The soft hum of the fridge the only sound.

Chris led them into the kitchen, offering water and juice bottles from the fridge.

They sat down, grateful, as Chris started plating up leftovers — arroz con pollo, roasted vegetables, some kind of pasta salad.

"You don’t have to," Mrs. Jiménez said, but Chris waved her off.

"Hospitality," he said simply, like it was obvious.

Definitely Buck’s influence, Mr. Jiménez thought, smiling.

They spended the time the food took to warm up to look around a little.

Photos were everywhere.

The walls were peppered with memories.

One, with a laughing young woman — the mother, they guessed — holding a baby Chris, Eddie by her side, both young and radiant.

Another, Eddie cradling baby Chris alone, looking exhausted but so tender.

A few others — Chris a little older, at school events, surf lessons — always with Eddie.

And then, the newer ones.

Buck and Chris together: Chris grinning wide, his arm thrown around Buck's shoulders; Buck lifting Chris up at the zoo; the two of them sprawled on the couch, asleep, Chris half on top of him.

Mrs. Jiménez caught her husband’s eye.

A silent agreement.

Mr. Jiménez was right. Eddie had been there since the beginning.

Then, Chris called them over to eat and they were left glancing around idly as they found their way, Mr. Jiménez spotted something on the fridge.

A single sheet of paper, held up by a magnet shaped like a little fire truck.

He tilted his head, reading the header.

Then his jaw dropped slightly.

Mrs. Jiménez leaned over.

The words were simple, clinical.

PATERNITY TEST RESULTS
Petitioner: Evan Buckley
Child: Christopher Diaz
Result: 99.99% match

They stared.

Then stared at each other.

"What," Mrs. Jiménez whispered.

"But—" Mr. Jiménez said.

They both looked back at the photos.

The laughing Buck. The tender Eddie. Chris growing up in the arms of both.

They could feel their brains short-circuiting a little bit.

Chris wandered back in with their plates, yawning, totally oblivious, and the bubble broke.

Chris wandered back in, carrying their plates, yawning, totally oblivious, and the bubble broke.

He set the dishes down carefully and then slid into his seat again, reaching for his own plate like nothing at all was out of place.

The Jiménez exchanged a glance.

A whole conversation passed between them in a second:

Don't say anything. Don't ruin this moment. Later. We'll freak out later.

Instead, they smiled at Chris and dug into the food like it was any other night.

Chris told them about the quiz he had coming up at school ("Chemistry, it's not my favorite, but Dad said he'd help me study") and about how Buck had promised him they'd make burgers this weekend if he aced it.

He mentioned that Lucía had sent him a new meme — something about cats baking — and that he'd save it to show them but had forgotten.

They laughed with him, asked questions about his classes, his teachers, his plans for the summer.

Every so often, their eyes would drift to the walls again — to the photos, to the paper pinned under the magnet — but they'd snap themselves back, focusing on Chris.

Because none of it — the questions, the confusion, the fact that every answer only led to more puzzles — mattered right now.

Right now, Chris was sitting across from them, happy and safe and offering them second helpings like the perfect little host he'd been raised to be.

"We have some cake from yesterday if you want some" he offered sleepily at last.

"You're an angel but no, we are fine, get some rest kid," Mrs. Jiménez said.

Chris nodded and walked to the kitchen again, mumbling something about putting some stuff out before walking them to the door.

Finally free to breathe again, Mr. Jiménez leaned closer to his wife and muttered, “We were both right.”

Mrs. Jiménez nodded slowly.

"And also wrong."

They sat back, smiling helplessly.

Maybe it didn’t matter how, exactly, the family was put together.

The love was loud and clear.

And at the end of the day, that was all that really mattered.

They thanked Chris profusely when they left, stepping into the cool night air with hearts a little fuller than before.

And as they walked home, Mr. Jiménez said, “Well, at least we don’t have to argue about it anymore.”

Mrs. Jiménez snorted. “Speak for yourself. I’m telling Lucía first thing tomorrow that I still think I had it mostly right.”

And they laughed all the way down.