"Pretty Impala," declared three-year old Dean, running his small hand over the sleek flank of the black car.
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John scooped the little boy up in his arms, tossing him into the air and causing the kid to squeal with delight.
"She's a beauty alright," he agreed. "Good job I took the advice of a young guy and bought her instead of the van."
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"When I grow up, 'pala's gonna be mine," Dean stated solemnly. "I'll learn to drive and take you and mom for a ride."
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John ruffled his hair. "It's a date," he grinned. "Thirteen years from now your mom and I'll probably need to be driven around, with all the grey hairs we're gonna have with you and your baby brother.
"But I don't have a baby brother," Dean observed, confused.
"Well, you're gonna have one soon, kiddo. Or maybe a baby sister. It all depends on the luck of the draw."
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Dean stared at his father in awe. "A baby brother. Cool. I gotta tell mom!"