He grinned. “You say the sweetest things.”
I rolled my eyes, but warmth bloomed behind my ribs. “You know what I mean.”
He reached for my hand, fingers warm against mine.
“I do,” he said quietly. “You were mine too.”
Before I could reply, the doorbell rang, followed immediately by the muffled sound of Lydia’s voice through the door.
“She’s here,” I said, standing. “Brace yourself for a baby parade.”
“Oh, I’m braced,” he said, wiping his hands. “Last time she brought enough blankets for a small army.”
When I opened the door, Lydia swept in wearing a coat the color of cranberries, cheeks pink from the cold and eyes bright. Callum followed behind her, juggling a diaper bag, a car seat, and a plate of cookies like the domestic superhero he never meant to become.
And in Lydia’s arms, wrapped in soft gray fleece, was Tulah Mae Benedict, the tiniest, calmest, most perfect reminder of how much had changed in one year.
“Merry Christmas!” Lydia said, beaming. “She’s finally letting me put her down for more than five minutes. Miracles do happen.”
“Speak for yourself,” Callum muttered. “She’s still got a sixth sense for when I’m about to sit down.”
Drew came up behind me, wrapping an arm around my waist. “You two look exhausted.”
“Thank you for noticing,” Lydia said. “I’ve been living on caffeine and the sound of lullabies that haunt my dreams.”
I laughed and reached for the baby. “Can I?”
“Of course,” she said, passing her over. “She’s a snuggler. It’s genetic.”
Tulah blinked up at me with wide eyes, her tiny hand curling around one of my fingers. She smelled like powder and hope andthe softest thing you can’t name. My heart gave that same aching tug it had last time I held her.
“Hey there, little one,” I whispered. “You’re going to grow up surrounded by people who spoil you rotten.”
“Damn right,” Lydia said. “You’re already Aunt Melanie by decree.”
“I second that,” Drew said, resting his chin on my shoulder. “I’ll start teaching her to throw snowballs next year.”
“Perfect,” Callum said dryly. “You can babysit too.”
I looked up at Drew, meeting his grin. “We’d better start practicing, then.”
“Practicing?” he said, feigning confusion. “You mean, like… babysitting?”
“Sure,” I said, smirking. “Eventually.”
He raised an eyebrow, reading between every line. “Eventually, huh?”
“Eventually,” I repeated, my heart doing a ridiculous little spin as he kissed the side of my head.
We moved to the living room, Lydia and Callum collapsing onto the couch like survivors of a holiday marathon. The fire glowed, the baby cooed softly, and everything felt beautifully simple.
Lydia smiled at me, tired but radiant. “You two seem happy.”
“We are,” I said, glancing at Drew.
He met my eyes, that familiar spark there. “Yeah,” he said softly. “We really are.”
Lydia leaned back with a satisfied hum. “Good. Reckless River suits you, Mel. Both of you.”
