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Ten minutes later my phone buzzed in my pocket. I read the message to myself and wasn’t sure how Tessa would react to the news. She peered up, her eyes focused on the message before her.
“Addy’s coming,” she read aloud. I held her tighter, and she smiled, a sad smile, and moved from my arms to sit up.
I stared at her for a long while—it felt that way, at least—and we shared the same thought. We both picked ourselves up off the floor of our would-be nursery and put smiles on our faces so we could be there for our best friends.
“We will be parents one day,” I promised my girl as we rode to the hospital to welcome our goddaughter into the world.
A YEAR AFTER THAT
HARDIN
WE HAD JUST DECIDED to take a break from trying to conceive. It was winter, I remember clearly, when Tessa came bouncing into the kitchen. Her hair was pulled back into an elegant bun, and she was dressed in a light pink lace dress. Her makeup was different that day—I couldn’t put my finger on it. She beamed as she approached me, and I slid out the stool I was sitting on and gestured for her to sit on my lap. She leaned against me; her hair smelled like vanilla and mint, and her body was so soft against mine. I pressed my lips to her neck, and she sighed, resting her hands on my parted knees.
“Hi, baby,” I said into her skin.
“Hi, Daddy,” she whispered back to me.
I cocked a brow at her; the way she said Daddy made my cock twitch, and her hands slowly traveled up my thighs.
“Daddy, huh?” My voice was thick, and she giggled, a silly and out-of-place laugh.
“Not the Daddy you’re thinking of. Pervert.” She playfully and gently swatted her hand over the bulge in my pants, and I put my hands on her shoulders to turn her to face me.
She was grinning again—then full-on fucking smiling—and I couldn’t quite connect what she was saying.
“See?” She reached her hand into the front pocket of her dress and pulled something out. It was a piece of paper. I didn’t understand, of course, but I’ve always been known for not getting important shit the first time. She unfolded the paper and placed it in my hand.
“What is that?” I stared at the blurry text on the page.
“You’re ruining this moment so terribly right now,” she scolded me.
I laughed and lifted the paper to my face.
“Urine test positive,” it read.
“Shit.” I gaped, my hand tightening around the paper.
“Shit?” she laughed, excitement clear in her blue-gray eyes. “I’m afraid to get too excited,” she quickly admitted. I reached for her hand, crumpling the page between us.
“Don’t be.” I kissed her forehead. “We don’t know what will happen, so we should be as excited as we fucking want to be.” My lips pressed against her head again.
“We need a miracle.” She nodded, trying to joke, but she came off so serious.
Seven months later, we had a blond little miracle named Emery.
SIX YEARS AFTER THAT
TESSA
I WAS SITTING at the kitchen table in our new apartment, tapping away on my laptop. I was planning three weddings at once, and I was pregnant with our second child. A little boy. His name was set to be Auden.
Auden was going to be a big boy—my stomach was swollen, my skin stretched once again with pregnancy. I was so tired toward the end, but I was determined to stay on task. The first of the three weddings was only a week away, so to say I was busy was an understatement. My feet were swollen and Hardin griped about me working so hard, but he knew better than to push it too much. I was finally making a decent income and building my name. New York City is a tough place to break into the wedding scene, but I had finally done it. With the help of a friend, my business was growing and my phone and email were full of inquiries.
One of the brides was panicking: her mother decided at the last minute to bring her new husband to the wedding, and now we had to adjust seating arrangements. Easy enough.
The front door opened, and Emery stormed past me and down the hall. She was six now. Her hair, an even lighter shade of blond than mine, was twisted into a messy bun; Hardin had done her hair for school this morning while I was at the doctor’s office.
“Emery?” I called as she slammed her bedroom door. The fact that Landon teaches at the school Addy and Emery attend makes my life easier, especially when I’m working so much.
“Leave me alone!” she cried out. I stood up, my belly touching the counter as I shifted. Hardin came out of our bedroom with his shirt off and tight black jeans hanging low on his hips.
“What’s with her?” he asked.
I shrugged. Our little Emery looked as sweet as her mom, but she had her father’s attitude. It was a combination that made our lives very interesting.
Hardin laughed a little as Emery yelled out, “I can hear you!” She was six and already a tornado.
“I’ll talk to her,” he said as he walked back into the bedroom. He returned with a black T-shirt in his hands. Watching as he pulled the shirt over his head, I had a flashback of the boy I met during my first week of college. When he knocked on Emery’s door, she huffed and complained, but he went inside anyway. As he closed the door behind him, I walked over to the door and pressed my ear to the wood.
“What’s going on with you, little one?” Hardin’s voice echoed through her room. Emery was a fighter, but she adored Hardin, and I loved the way they were together. He was such a patient and fun father to her.
I reached my hand down and rubbed my belly, telling the little guy in there, “You’re going to like me more than your daddy.”
