Page 57 of Puck, Marry, Thrill

The morning sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, spilling soft gold across the tangled sheets. Jamie stirred, her limbs deliciously sore and her heart full. She blinked slowly, her lashes brushing her cheeks as a small, private smile curved her lips. The memories of the night before shimmered behind her closed eyelids—Kenneth’s tenderness, the reverent way his hands had moved across her skin, the quiet emotion that had thickened his voice as they made love, and his eyes when he looked at her?

She had never been seen like that before—not just desired butcherished.

With a quiet, contented sigh, she stretched, the sheets slipping down to pool at her waist. Her fingers touched the place on her collarbone where his lips had lingered, and she felt that same warmth bloom in her chest. It had been real. It hadn’t been rushed, obligatory, or perfunctory. It had beeneverything.

Her heart swelled further when she remembered how Zachary’s fever had finally broken around midnight. Just like that, the haze of worry that had shadowed the edges of her joy had lifted—and he’d asked for Dino-nuggets with a raspy, sleepy grin.

And then—she froze.

Zachary.

Panic flickered through her like a jolt of ice water. The house was too quiet. Too still.

Until she heard it. Faint, but unmistakable—the sound of Zachary's giggle echoing from somewhere deeper in the house, followed by the rich, husky rumble of Kenneth’s amused reply.

Jamie’s body relaxed all at once, like a thread pulled loose in a taut tapestry. She exhaled shakily, the fear replaced by a tenderness that took her completely off guard. Her hand drifted to her heart as she listened. Those sounds… it wasn’t just noise. It washarmony. It was the sound of her boys—laughing together. Her son.Herson. And the man she loved, being exactly what she'd never dared to dream he could be.

A family.

She sat up and reached for the shirt Kenneth had left draped on the nearby chair. Pulling it over her head, she padded to the edge of the bed and tilted her head toward the cracked door. Grabbing a robe, she wrapped it around her quickly and fastened the belt. The voices floated through it like the scent of something sweet baking in the oven—warm and inviting.

“Momma is going to laugh…”

Jamie’s breath caught in her throat.

She blinked rapidly, her lashes wet.

Momma.

Zachary hadn’t called her that before, if he had, it might have been during his sleep—but this was different. This was conscious. Real. He looked at her, considered her his Momma.

And it unraveled her.

Tears threatened, and she swallowed hard, brushing a hand across her cheek. Her knees felt weak with the ache of love, with the wonder of hearing that word spoken aloud. Momma.Hismomma.

“Shhh, Zack-Attack. She’ll hear us, and we’re almost done.”

Almost donewith what?

Jamie stood quietly, trying not to creak the wooden floorboards as she slipped into the hallway. The laughter grew louder—low chuckles, tiny snorts, and the unmistakable crinkle of cellophane.

Her brows pulled together in curiosity. What were theydoing?

She crept closer.

Each step she took felt like walking deeper into a moment she wouldn’t want to forget. She reached the corner and paused, pressing her palm to the wall for balance. She peeked around the edge—and stopped breathing.

Her mouth fell open.

There, in the living room, spread across every surface she could see—was chaos.

But beautiful chaos.

Vases. Dozens of them. All mismatched in shape and size, every single one filled not with flowers, but with snack cakes. Little Debbie snack cakes—glued with careful precision to the tops of dowel rods, standing tall like they were the proudest blooms in some whimsical, calorie-laden garden.

Jamie stepped forward slowly, unable to look away.

Swiss Roll “roses,” pink Sno-Ball “peonies,” rows of Cosmic Brownie “daisies,” Oatmeal Cream Pie “carnations.” There were Honey Buns adorned with glittery curly sticks, Christmas Tree cakes with shiny red ribbon, even Zebra Cakes twisted into something resembling lilies. Each bouquet was arranged meticulously—twelve “flowers” per vase, nestled with fake greenery like they belonged in some dessert-themed florist's catalog.

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