Page 74 of The Locksmith's Promise

“Is it for real?” He pressed his lips together and eyed both of us.

“What do you mean?” she asked cautiously.

“Is it for real?” he repeated impatiently. “Forever. Like we’re going to be a family.”

“Uh…” Maggie stared back at him, her jaw agape.

“That’s my intention,” I answered. “That’s what I want and what I’m working toward.”

He narrowed his gaze on Maggie. “And you, Mom?”

She snapped her mouth shut and nodded. “That’s the plan.”

His eyes took on a faraway look as he tilted his head to the side. “So, we’ll be like Mikey’s family. A mom and a dad and a—”

His mouth dropped open as his eyebrows crashing together over his horrified eyes. “You guys aren’t going to be making babies, are you?”

Maggie sputtered while I out and out laughed.

It burst from me like a geyser. I tossed my head back, my palm on my gut, as it rumbled out of me.

Maggie gaped at me like a fish.

I grinned at her and replied, “That’s up to your mom. If she wants another baby, I’m happy to give her one.”

He frowned, then mused, “It might not be so bad.”

Maggie held up her hands. “Hold on now, both of you. We’re dating. Getting to know one another again. And we’ll be a family no matter what happens between Baxter and me. Don’t go planning on siblings just yet.” She gulped. “If at all.”

My chest hollowed out, but I clung to my smile for Maggie’s sake.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’d entertained the idea of another baby, one whose diapers I would change, one I would get to rock to sleep, one whose first steps I would witness in real time.

The loss of Corwin’s babyhood hit me anew, a knife twisting in my chest, making it hard to breathe.

And that fury, the one I fought to contain, bubbled up in my throat and stung the back of my tongue.

“Bax?” Maggie’s eyebrows met over eyes soft with concern.

I gave my head a small shake and smiled. “Mags?”

“What happened there?”

A quick glance showed Corwin seated at the table with his homework.

“Baxter? What’s wrong?”

My voice gruff, I explained, “Sometimes the past sneaks up on me.”

“You looked angry,” she prodded.

“I am,” I stated. “But not at you. Never with you.”

“Do you want another baby?” she ventured.

Did I?

“I don’t know if I want another child or if I’m grieving missing Corwin’s babyhood,” I hedged.

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