Sunlight spills across the kitchen floor. Papa Rabbit nudges Peter's ear. Peter stretches and yawns — the room smells like warm butter and toasted honey.
Peter reaches for his bowl, but Papa stops him. 'Too hot,' he says softly. Peter's ears droop. He waits.
Peter hops once. Twice. Three times. He taps his foot. He spins in circles. The pot keeps steaming.
Peter tries pretending to be a tree — very still, very boring. Papa points out the window. A ladybug crawls along a sunflower stem.
At last, Papa pours the tea. Peter takes a sip — sweet and warm and perfectly right. He gasps.
The steam rises and twists — into the shape of a tiny bunny, waving at him. Peter giggles so hard his toast bounces.
Peter and Papa sit on the garden bench, shoulders touching, cups warming their paws. The afternoon is quiet and kind.
A butterfly lands near Peter's ear. He doesn't move. He just smiles.
The butterfly flutters away. Peter watches it go. Papa squeezes his shoulder. Everything feels perfectly right.
Peter leans into Papa's side. The teacups sit empty on the bench between them. The garden hums softly around the pair.
