Page 50 of Sweetly Yours

Brock looks back at the box, his smile widening. “Speaking of cookies, I’m saving these. Not a single one is getting eaten.”

“Not evenyour little peanut is baking?” I tease, raising an eyebrow.

“Especially not that one,” he says, pulling me close again. “I’m framing it.”

I laugh, my heart feeling lighter than it has in days. This is it—this is the life I’ve always wanted. And now, with Brock by my side and a baby on the way, it’s only just beginning.

The months that follow are a whirlwind of changes, love, and new beginnings. Brock and I decided to move into my house—it’s bigger, cozier, and already felt like home. With a little elbow grease and a lot of help from Brock, we turned it into the perfect place to start our family.

He built shelves for the nursery, patched the walls from the break-in, and even made Frankie a little bed in the corner of our bedroom, though Frankie clearly prefers sleeping between us.

And then, just a few weeks ago, in the middle of it all, Brock proposed.

It wasn’t elaborate or over-the-top—just him and me at the bakery, after closing. He’d carved “Marry me, Willow” into a wooden plaque and set it on the counter with a tiny bouquet of sunflowers beside it.

I cried, of course. Then I said yes before he could even finish asking.

Our wedding was exactly what I wanted—small, simple, and filled with love. We held it in the backyard under the oak tree, with a handful of our closest friends and family. June stood beside me as my maid of honor, and Ethan, Brock’s best friend, was his best man.

When I walked down the aisle in a simple white dress, the look on Brock’s face made every doubt I’d ever had about love disappear.

The vows were short and sweet, just like the ceremony. But as we exchanged rings, Brock leaned in and whispered, “Forever, baby,” and it felt like a promise I could hold onto for the rest of my life.

Now, here we are—married, happy, and counting down the weeks until we meet our little one.

The nursery is nearly done, painted in soft yellows and greens, with hand-carved wooden animals Brock made lining the shelves. Every time I step inside, I feel this flutter of excitement and nerves, like I can’t believe this is actually happening.

“Baby, you okay?” Brock’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts.

I turn to see him standing in the doorway of the nursery, a paintbrush in hand and a smudge of green paint on his forearm.

“Just thinking,” I say, smiling as I rub my belly, which has grown rounder by the day.

He sets the brush down and crosses the room, wrapping his arms around me from behind. His hands rest on my stomach, and I feel the baby kick, a tiny nudge that makes my heart swell.

“Was that—”

“Yep,” I say, laughing as he presses his hands a little firmer against my belly.

“She’s strong,” he says, his voice filled with wonder.

“She?” I tease, turning to look at him over my shoulder. “We don’t know that yet.”

He smiles, kissing my cheek. “Just a feeling. But whoever they are, they’re already the luckiest kid in the world. They’ve got you for a mom.”

I laugh, leaning into him. “And you for a dad. That’s pretty lucky too.”

He presses a kiss to my temple, his voice soft. “You know, I never imagined my life turning out like this. But now that we’re here... I can’t imagine it any other way.”

“Me neither,” I whisper, my hand covering his on my stomach.

The future feels bright, filled with love and possibilities. And as I stand here in the nursery with Brock’s arms around me, I know we’re ready for whatever comes next.

EPILOGUE

JUNE

I’m sitting at one of Willow’s corner tables, nursing a latte that’s gone lukewarm. The bakery smells like cinnamon and vanilla, and the warm, cozy vibe usually helps me unwind. But not today.

---