“Even with Blythe’s elaborate birthday party demands?”
“Especially with those.” I lean against him, feeling the solid warmth of his chest against my back. “I love that she feels safe enough to make big plans. That she expects us to be here to help her execute them.”
“We will be.”
“I know. That’s the miracle of it.”
Later, after the kids are in bed and we’re alone in our bedroom—our bedroom, in our house, with our combined sock drawers and shared bathroom counter—I finally bring up Elliot’s question.
“She asked when we’re getting married,” I tell him.
Dex goes still behind me. “What did you tell her?”
“That we haven’t talked about it.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I turn to face him, studying his expression in the dim light. “Do you want to get married? Like, actually married, not just living together?”
“Is that a proposal?” he asks, grinning.
“Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve never proposed to anyone before.”
“Well, you’re doing great so far. Very romantic, asking while we’re both in our pajamas with toothpaste breath.”
“Shut up,” I laugh, hitting his chest. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.” He catches my hand, brings it to his lips. “Yes, I want to marry you. I want to legally adopt Tyson and Blythe if they’ll let me. I want to make this official in every way possible.”
The words hit me harder than I expected. Legal adoption. Making him their father officially, not just in practice.
“The kids would have to agree,” I manage. “That’s a big decision for them.”
“I know. But I love them like they’re already mine. Have since almost the beginning.”
“They love you too. But adoption...” I trail off, overwhelmed by the magnitude of it.
“We don’t have to decide anything tonight,” he says gently. “We can talk to them when you’re ready. See how they feel about it.”
“And marriage?”
“Whenever you want. Big wedding, small wedding, courthouse wedding. I don’t care as long as you’re the one in the white dress.”
I kiss him then, pouring everything I can’t quite articulate into it. Love and gratitude and the absolute certainty that this is where I belong.
“Ask me again in six months,” I say when we break apart. “When we’ve survived a full season of living together and Blythe’s birthday extravaganza.”
“Deal. But I’m warning you now—I’m planning to ask in a much more romantic setting than our bedroom.”
“Good to know. I’ll make sure to wear something other than dinosaur pajamas.”
“I like the dinosaur pajamas,” he protests. “They’re very you.”
“You say that like it’s a compliment.”
“It is. Everything about you is a compliment to my life.”
I fall asleep that night thinking about weddings and adoptions and the future we’re building together. It’s not the life I planned when I was young and thought I knew what happiness looked like. It’s better. Messier and more complicated and absolutely perfect.
