Page 67 of Uxpectedly Ever After

“I love you,” I say, voice thick. “So goddamn much.”

"I love you too," she whispers against my mouth. "Even if I did threaten to castrate you."

"Worth it," I say, glancing down at Noble. "Every threat, every broken bone in my hand, all of it. Worth it for him."

A week later, I’m pacing our new nursery at three in the morning, Noble tucked against my chest while I try to lull him back to sleep. Clover’s finally crashed in our bed after taking the brunt of night feedings the day before, so I’m determined to give her a break.

“You gotta cut your mom some slack, bud,” I murmur, moving in slow circles as he squirms against me. “She’s tough, but she needs sleep too.”

He makes a small snuffling sound but doesn't start screaming, his tiny body warm against mine. I still can't get over how perfect he is—ten fingers, ten toes, a little tuft of dark hair, and a set of lungs that lets the whole neighborhood know when he's hungry.

"Your mom is the strongest person I've ever met," I continue, keeping my voice low. "Smartest, too. And the most stubborn. Which means you and I are going to have our hands full.” I brush my finger gently over his cheek. "But that's okay. We're going toprotect her heart anyway. She spends so much time taking care of everyone else, but you and me? We're going to make sure she knows she's loved. Every single day."

Maybe it’s the rumble of my voice or the slow swaying, but Noble settles, his tiny breath evening out. For a minute, I stand there in the glow of the nightlight, memorizing the weight of him in my arms, the smell of his head, soaking in the sensation of holding my son.

A floorboard creaks, and I glance up to see Clover standing in the doorway, watching us. She's wearing one of my old PFD t-shirts and those tiny sleep shorts that still always do me in, her hair piled on top of her head in that messy bun. Even with shadows under her eyes and spit-up on her shoulder, she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

"Hey," I whisper. "Did we wake you?"

She shakes her head, moving into the nursery. "No. The empty bed did." She comes to stand beside us, reaching out to brush her fingers over Noble's back. "How long has he been out?"

"About twenty minutes. I thought I'd give him a little more time before putting him down to be sure he was fully under."

She smiles at me, and it hits me all over again—how fucking lucky I am that this incredible woman chose me. Chose this life with me.

"Let me take him," she says. "You've been on your feet since your shift ended, and you have to be back at the station in six hours."

I want to argue, to tell her I'm fine, that she needs rest more than I do. But I'm learning that sometimes the best way to take care of Clover is to let her take care of me.

"Thanks, Freckles," I say, handing him over. She takes our son like she’s done this forever, and it still amazes me, considering we've only been doing this for a week.

"Go get some sleep," she says, settling into the rocking chair in the corner of the nursery. "I've got him."

I lean down to press a kiss to the top of her head, then Noble's. "Wake me if you need anything. Promise?"

"Promise," she says with a small smile. " By the way, there’s some stuff on the kitchen table I want you to look at tomorrow. Bar logo ideas. They’re super rough, but I think I’m onto something.”

“Can’t wait.” I tell her, already looking forward to it. She’s been dreaming of running her own bar for years, and I’m lucky enough to be part of that plan now.

Downstairs, my curiosity gets the best of me. The kitchen table’s covered in sketches and scribbles and I grin at how messy it is. I pick up one of the drawings—an outline of a bar logo with the name “Priestly’s” woven into the design. My throat tightens as I trace my finger over my last name—ourlast name—incorporated into her dream.

I'm still looking at the designs when I hear Clover's footsteps on the stairs. She pauses in the doorway, our son no longer in her arms.

"He's out," she says, moving to join me at the table. "Hopefully for more than forty-five minutes this time."

I hold up the sketch. "You're naming the bar after us?"

She nods, leaning into me as my arm automatically wraps around her waist. "It seemed right." She repeats my own words back to me from the day I put the mobile up in our son’s room.

"Starting your empire, Freckles?" I murmur against her hair, inhaling the citrus scent of her shampoo mixed with the baby smell that seems to cling to both of us these days.

“Somebody has to plan for the future in this relationship,” she teases, but there's a softness to her voice that wasn't there before all of this started. Something just for me. "You like it?"

"I do," I tell her, and I mean it.

She turns in my arms, her hands sliding up my chest as she looks up at me. Even though we’re both running on no sleep and covered in baby spit, she’s never looked happier.

A small noise comes from the baby monitor on the counter. We both freeze, holding our breath until it's clear he's not waking up.

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