Page 62 of Wild Heart

He reached out and gently touched her belly, hesitant at first, his hand warm through the fabric of her sweater.

“I don’t know what kind of father I’ll be,” he said honestly. “But I want to try. I want to give this child the kind of start neither of us had.”

She stepped into his arms then, finally, and let her head rest against his chest. His arms folded around her, steady and quiet, the rhythm of his heart a soft reassurance beneath her cheek. In that moment, they weren’t two people bracing against the past. They were a family beginning. Still tender. Still healing. But together.

Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, and the wolves answered with a low, echoing song. Inside the cabin, two people stood at the edge of something sacred. And chose, once again, to hold on.

They sat together on the floor in front of the fire, the thick woven rug warm beneath them and a blanket draped over their legs. The air between them had softened into something golden, like the dying light of day caught inside a snow globe. The embers crackled beside them, and the scent of burning cedar drifted through the cabin like something holy.

Natalie had curled into Mason’s side, her head resting on his shoulder, their fingers lazily intertwined. For the first time in what felt like months, they weren’t rushing to fix something. Or protect something. Or escape from something. They were just there. In it. Together.

“I keep thinking about names,” she said after a while.

Mason turned his head slightly, smiling. “Already?”

“I can’t help it.” She sat up straighter, one hand pressed instinctively to her belly. “They just keep popping into my head like little sparks. I’m not even sure why. Maybe it makes it feel more real.”

“Got any front-runners?”

She tilted her head, considering. “Maybe something old-fashioned. But not too frilly. Strong. Something with roots.”

Mason chuckled. “You know we’re going to spend the next few months vetoing each other.”

“You say that like you’ll get a vote.”

He laughed again, the sound deep and warm and familiar. “Oh, I see how this is going to go.”

“I’m growing the baby,” she said, mock-defensive, “I get primary naming rights.”

Mason reached for her hand, lifting it to his lips. “Fair. But I’m in charge of bedtime stories.”

Natalie’s face softened. “Deal.”

They sat in a companionable silence for a moment. It wrapped around them like a well-worn quilt. Outside, snow had begun to fall, fine and powdery, sticking only in the corners of windowsills and fence posts. Inside, everything glowed with contentment and firelight.

“Do you think it’s always like this?” Natalie asked quietly. “Happiness. Does it ever just… stay?”

Mason was quiet for a moment. Then he answered honestly.

“I don’t think it stays the same,” he said. “I think it changes shape. But I think it can last if we keep choosing it.”

She turned her face toward him, eyes glossy. “I’m tired of not being in control.”

“So, let’s stop letting fate dictate,” he said gently. “Let’s look forward, commit to being happy and living life how we want it to be.”

She leaned in, brushing her nose against his, and smiled. “You’re getting poetic on me.”

He smiled, too. “Must be the baby.”

Then he reached behind the cushion he’d been sitting against. Natalie didn’t notice at first, not until he shifted and turned back around, something small and dark in his hand.

When he held it out to her, she stared.

It was a velvet box.

Her breath caught.

“Mason…”

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