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“Oh, my goodness,” Annie says, her breath catching as she squeezes my arm. “Did you see that? She smiled!”
“She did,” I say, blinking as tears fill my eyes. “She’s a genius.”
Annie shifts her gaze to mine. “And you’re a softie.” She kisses my cheek. “Have I told you how much I love that about you today?”
I turn my head, catching her lips with mine as I murmur, “Glad to hear it.”
“You’ll be even gladder about my surprise later tonight.” Her eyes dance as she pulls back, checking to make sure we’re still alone in the kitchen before she adds, “I saw the midwife today.”
All my senses suddenly on high alert, I ask, “You did? And what did she say?”
“She said I’m all healed up from the birth and ready to get back to riding my husband’s cock like my favorite pony.”
A loud squelching sound erupts from the sink and a moment later Kitty’s tentacles burst into view, several of them flailing and jabbing our way as she fetches her white board and a pen with the others.
Cheeks flushing red, Annie says, “Kitty Anne Squirmington, what have I told you about eavesdropping? If you don’t want to hear adult human things, stop eavesdropping on adult conversations.”
The house kraken flails some more as if to say she simply can’t help herself and continues to scribble on her board. A beat later, she delivers the following message to the table in front of us—Be careful! Too soon to have another baby! You might hurt yourself! Think of Aurora! She needs her mother strong and healthy! Please! I don’t want her to be an orphan.
Annie’s face softens with a mixture of understanding and a hint of sadness I wish I could wipe away. But we’ve known from the beginning that Aurora will be our only child and that we were indescribably lucky to have her. This bittersweet sadness is something we can carry together, each beautiful moment with our small family enough to take the edge off our regret that we can’t have a houseful of children.
Annie strokes the kraken’s closest tentacle. “It’s all right, Kitty. We don’t need to worry about that. Aurora was a miracle and miracles don’t strike twice. Not to the same two people anyway. So, you can relax. No need to worry about my health or safety.” She gives the creature’s arm a gentle squeeze. “Or my sex life. That’s mine and Baron’s private business, all right?”
She wags several arms back and forth in clear opposition to this boundary.
Annie exhales, but before she can double down on her insistence that the kraken keep her tentacles out of our bedroom, Blaire appears in the door leading into the back yard, a smile on her face and a beer in hand. “Hello, my favorite little family, Darcy just got here with the vampire refreshments and cornhole-playing supplies! We need you to come outside right now so we can divide into teams, make a championship bracket, and beat you all so badly you go home in tears, wishing you weren’t such utter failures at games of skill.”
“Can I cry now and skip the beanbag throwing altogether?” I ask.
Blaire wags a finger my way. “No, you cannot. Sophie’s still out of town at that supernatural librarian convention and Sally and Becca have a late night at the salon and won’t be here until after ten. You two have to form a team and play in the first or second rounds.”
She disappears only to pop her head back in a moment later to add, “Amy is going to play on Casey’s team, so you’ll at least have a shot at not coming in dead last. She’s got a great arm for a two-year-old, but she is, in fact, two. And I’ve been letting her steal candy corn from the jack-o’-lantern bowl while Casey’s getting dressed, so she’s going to be too hopped up on sugar for her aim to be as spot on as usual.”
“Thank goodness,” Annie says dryly. “We’ll be right out. Just let me check and see if Aurora needs to be changed first.”
I hold my tongue until Blaire disappears again, before assuring Annie, “She’s dry. I changed her right before she went to sleep half an hour ago.”
“I know,” Annie whispers, hooking her arm through mine and drawing me to my feet, the baby still cradled in my arms. “But if we’re going to be forced to play cornhole with the most competitive people on earth, I think we deserve a reward first, don’t you?”
Glancing over my shoulder to make sure our escape isn’t being observed, I follow Annie to the stairs leading down into the basement. “What kind of reward do you have in mind? A quick nap by the fire in Blaire’s spell room? A chat with Peter about the ghostly activity in town?”
“While I’m guessing Peter would have some excellent ghost gossip, and Blaire’s room is a wonderful place for a nap, I was thinking something a little more…private,” she says, grinning up at me as she descends the stairs. “I made something. Just for us.”
I arch a brow. “You did? With what spare time?” Laura and I help with Aurora’s care as much as we can, but Annie is nursing the baby, so she’s up all hours of the day and night on top of her part time job at the library. She’s been so busy since the birth, we haven’t had time to stay on top of the laundry, let alone take on new projects.
“Okay, fine, Kitty did most of the construction, but I drew up the plans and enchanted the entrance with only a teensy-tiny bit of help from my magic tutor.” At the bottom of the stairs, she stops in front of a dingy, built-in closet in a darkened corner that I’ve always assumed contained cleaning equipment—or skeletons best left alone—with a flourish of her graceful hands. “Voila! Our portal to another world. Just like in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.”
My lips curve as delight fizzes through my veins. “You didn’t.”
“I did,” she says, bouncing on her toes as she lets out a soft squeal of excitement. “I can’t wait to show you and Aurora when she’s older. But much older because we don’t want her knowing where we’re sneaking off to while she’s watching cartoons with Amy and her aunties.” She takes my hand, squeezing my fingers. “Ready to see what I made?”
“Always,” I say, glancing down at our daughter’s sweet sleeping face. “You make beautiful, magical things.”
“I really do,” she agrees in an adoring whisper.
She presses a soft kiss to Aurora’s forehead before reaching for the latch holding the cabinet closed. It glows a soft pink in her hands before the latch falls away and the door opens on an English countryside at dusk. As we step through, closing the portal behind us, I smell spring grass and flowers budding on trees. In the distance, castle ruins crouch beside a winding river, watching over the valley surrounded by softly rolling hills.
“What do you think?’ she asks, nibbling her bottom lip. “I thought it might remind you of home. In the good way.”
