There's another blanket in the bag; Spike reaches for it and hands it across the table to Beth before he finishes the story. He sneaks a look at her hand smoothing Wade's hair and there's something so primal and satisfying about that movement. Later, when babysitting's done and it's just the two of them, he'll try to remember to do that same thing for her as she's falling asleep.

Or ask her to do it for him.

He reads:

But the wild things cried, "Oh please don't go--we'll eat you up--we love you so!" And Max said, "No!"
The wild things roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws but Max stepped into his private boat and waved good-bye and sailed back over a year and in and out of weeks and through a day and into the night of his very own room where he found his supper waiting for him

Wade's eyes are closed, so he reads the last page in a whisper:

and it was still hot.

There's a long moment of silence, and it seems to Spike that even the noises from the surrounding bar have settled out of respect for the sleeping twins. Of course, that could just be wishful thinking. He checks Millie; she looks peaceful as anything.

Carefully, he reaches for the iced coffee: this babysitting thing isn't as bad as he thought it was going to be.

He whispers to Beth.

"Hey. I like that story."

Somewhere deep inside, he's still a little kid who doesn't mind bedtime stories.

But he'll never, ever admit it. Not even to himself.