Page 97 of Pastel Kisses

Because honestly? Being ridiculous in love is the best kind of problem to have.

Liam

By the time we all gather around the table, the scent of roasted herbs, buttery rolls, and Kam’s garlic mashed potatoes fills the house like a warm hug. Plates clink. Chairs scoot. And for a split second, everything feels perfect.

Dan couldn’t make it until the weekend, but Avery insisted we still celebrate today. I can’t blame her. We don’t take days like this for granted anymore. Not after everything we’ve faced. Every minute with her feels like a blessing—one I’ll never stop being thankful for.

Especially nights like this.

I glance to my left where she’s settled between me and Lennox, her arm curled protectively around our daughter. Lexxas babbles happily in her lap, making little fist-grabs for the soft fabric of Avery’s sweater. The glow on Avery’s face isn’t just candlelight—it’s motherhood, it’s joy, and it’s something that cracks my chest open every time I look at her.

Lennox passes me the rolls, his grin wide and knowing. It’s twin time tonight. We get to share her—really share her—and even though we’ve been together for a while now, it still feels surreal. She’s ours. We’re hers. And that connection only deepens with every quiet moment like this.

“She’s eyeing my stuffing like she wants to fight me for it,” Lennox says, nodding toward Lexxas, who is very clearly fascinated by his fork.

Avery chuckles, brushing a kiss to the top of Lexi’s head. “She’s been practicing her death stares. Kam taught her.”

Kam, already smirking, lifts his glass. “Guilty. But let it be known—she blinked first.”

Laughter rings out around the table, easy and genuine, and I soak it in like sunlight.

“You know,” Jaxton says, stabbing a bite of sweet potato, “this might be my favorite version of normal. Loud, chaotic, filled with good food... and a baby who thinks Lennox is a chew toy.”

“That’s because he always smells like syrup,” I add with a grin.

“Can you blame me?” Lennox shrugs. “I’ve got sweet written all over me.”

“Sweet chaos,” Avery teases, leaning into my side. Her hand brushes my thigh under the table, casual and loving, and something in my chest settles. Grounds me.

Lexxas lets out a squeal as I spoon a bit of mashed potatoes onto her baby plate and slide it closer. Her tiny fingers immediately mash it into her face, and Avery just smiles like it’s the most magical thing she’s ever seen.

“She’s a work of art,” Avery murmurs softly, and we all go quiet for a beat—because she’s not just talking about the baby. She’s talking about this. About us.

And yeah, she’s right.

She is, too.

I reach for her hand, lacing my fingers with hers, and squeeze gently. “You’re the glue, Bee.”

“And the spark,” Lennox adds, brushing her cheek with a knuckle, causing her to blush.

The aftermath of dinner looks like something out of a Thanksgiving special—plates stacked, forks scattered, crumbs from rolls that didn’t stand a chance. Everyone’s full, a little sleepy, and totally content.

Lexxas starts rubbing her eyes with the back of her tiny fists, her head wobbling just slightly before she plops it against Avery’s chest. My heart melts, just watching the way our little girl burrows closer to her mama like she’s already halfway to dreamland.

“She’s wiped,” I murmur, nodding toward Lexi. “Big day for such a little queen.”

Avery brushes her lips across Lexi’s curls. “She’s been fighting nap time since lunch. Probably all the excitement.”

Kam’s already stacking plates, his sleeves rolled up and focused. Lennox is grabbing glasses, while Jax is scooping up the napkins with practiced ease. We’ve got a rhythm when it comes to after-dinner cleanup, and honestly, I kind of love it.

Avery starts to shift, like she’s about to stand with Lexi still clinging to her like a koala.

“I’ve got it,” I tell her, stepping forward to take Lexxas gently from her arms. “You helped cook all this magic. You’re off duty now.”

She protests immediately. “So did Kam—and he’s over there scrubbing dishes like a martyr.”

Kam chuckles without looking up from the sink. “I am not a martyr. I’m a man with a sponge and a mission.”

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