Page 83 of The Comeback

“Well, believe it.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “I can’t wait to raise a family with you in our new home.” The house is perfect. He’s perfect. I got everything I wanted. Even if I wasn’t looking for a football player. Life works out that way sometimes. The more you try to control it. The more the universe laughs at you.

Well, I was dead wrong. Weston is all I need. And our baby. Nothing else matters. Not the house we live in. The city or the state. They’re all irrelevant.

Epilogue

Three Years Later

Weston

The first thing I hear when I open the door of my wife’s dance studio is the bell jingling my arrival, followed by the rhythmic beat of a song I’ve heard before, but I don’t know the name.

“One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three.” Charlotte’s voice carries into the waiting room. I frown. It’s empty. The chairs are scooted tightly under the tables, and only a stray ballet slipper rests on one of the wooden surfaces.

“One. Two. Three.”

I step around the corner and stand on the threshold of the main classroom with my hand clutched to my chest. Rowan, our daughter, is wearing a pink leotard, pink stockings, black ballet slippers, and a rainbow tutu. She laughs as she spins in a circle on her toes. Well, it’s more on her feet, and she surges sideways as she moves to one toe. Charlotte grabs her to keep her from falling, and the laughter intensifies.

When Charlotte lifts her into her arms and spins in a circle, my heart nearly stops. There’s only so much a man can take. The love I feel for these two beautiful women is earthshattering. I would do anything in the world to keep them happy.

She stops and gives me a saucy grin. “Are you staring at me?”

“At the two of you.” I saunter across the wooden floor, but before I can get within twenty feet of them, Rowan scrambles down and runs at full speed toward me. Her little curls fly in the breeze she creates. She’s in perpetual motion, and I love it. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Dada,” she squeals as I lift her up and toss her into the air. Her eyes twinkle in delight. I couldn’t be more blessed. I smother her with kisses and rest her on my hip. “Are you learning to dance?”

“Yep.” Her dimples widen, and she squirms against my side. “Dance.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I set her back down on her feet, and off she goes–running, spinning, and using her arms like airplane wings. How can they pack that much energy inside such a tiny package?

Charlotte crosses her arms over her chest and eyes me up and down. “Where’s my kiss?”

“Come here.” I waggle my eyebrows and motion her forward with the wiggle of my finger. “I’ve got something for you.”

“Oh, you do?” She bites her bottom lip and sways her hips as she walks across the wooden floor. It pops under her feet. I could buy her any studio in town, but she loves this one. The place we met. The first place we made love. Where we made Rowan. And she also loves the historic feel of the floor. I consider that a distant fourth place.

“Yes, I do.” I lace my arms around her waist and haul her up until she’s straddling my waist and her arms are around my neck. The instant she’s in my arms, peace surrounds me. She is my home. No matter where it is.

“Where is it?”

“Where is what?”

“This thing you have more of?” Her eyes twinkle and mirror Rowan’s.

I widen my eyes, as if the answer should be evident. “Me.”

“Oh.” She pretends to pout. “That’s disappointing.”

“Cute.” I claim her mouth until she’s vibrating around me. Every touch still feels new. I’ll never get enough of her.

Minutes later, the song ends, and the place goes quiet, except for Rowan’s chatter as she explores the room.

“How’s my baby?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re better than fine.” The deep growl in my voice causes her to shudder. We’ll get back to that soon. As soon as we drop Rowan off at my mom’s house. I lower her to the ground and rest my hand on her flat belly.

She rests her hand over mine. “I feel great. Still no sickness. A flutter here and there.” With this pregnancy, she’s not had a moment of morning sickness. It’s that Y chromosome I put in there.

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