Page 55 of Bound Hearts

“Yes and no. But when is the big day?”

“Sooner than later. I’ll be halfway soon. And I want it to be very simple nuptials. Pen on paper and some legal jargon. Probably nobody else there.”

“Very on brand for a lawyer. You and Foster, as well. You’re both private people.”

We share a look, both taking in my new reality. Her warm smile reassures me. I was the last one any of us expected to be here, but now that I am, it feels strangely right. Like this was always my path.

"I’ll help you with anything—preparing for the baby, labor, or baking a cake for your marriage certificate," she lists.

“Thanks. I might take you up on it. I’m ridiculously clueless about anything baby-related.”

Savannah returns with a member of staff from the bar trailing behind her, carrying a bottle of champagne.

“We have Sutton-safe champagne,” she announces with a gleeful smile and slides back into the booth.

A man our age sets down glasses and an ice bucket with a bottle in it.

“We’re celebrating?” I ask, part of me surprised, part amused, not sure whether to laugh or cry at how fast my life is changing.

“Yes. It’s not every day you announce life-changing news, and since you are not telling us while crying on a bedroom floor, then I’m going to assume this is a happy occasion.”

“Here I was thinking we might talk shopping,” I deadpan.

The cork pops, and as the bartender pours our drinks, my mind races through all the life changes swirling around me—and my friends—at once.

It’s not a competition between us.

But I don’t have the luxury of time.

Life is speeding up, and the baby is the ticking clock I can’t ignore.

And I’m at peace with that.

15

SUTTON

Later, when I arrive at Foster’s, I walk into his bedroom, where he’s lying on top of the duvet, sitting against the headboard, typing away on his laptop. There is Foster in a suit working in his office, and then there is Foster in sweats and a t-shirt working on a weekend. One version is polished and can be hard to read for some, while the other is direct. The other is him, casual and relaxed, more sarcastic, and that smirk that is soft and unguarded.

“It’s Sunday,” I say blandly, catching his attention as I wander to the bed and flop down, barefoot in my spring dress.

“No rest for the wicked. Quarterlies and all.” He shuts the laptop and moves it to the side table, lying on his side with his head resting against his propped hand, intent on listening.

Smiling, he’s right. We share the same work ethic.

“How was it with Julian and Hayes?” I ask, curious.

Foster’s cheeks puff as he lets out a deep breath. “They were surprised-ish. Julian for sure. Supportive. It was easy to talk about, in all honesty.”

“Same.”

His eyes meet mine, and we both softly smile, exhausted from our days but tranquil all the same. It’s all out.

“Your parents? Should we head back to Everhope next weekend? I should meet them.”

“As much as I would like to have real coffee at Foxy Rox, there isn’t much point in going. My parents won’t be back in Illinois anytime soon. I spoke to them real quick. Kind of my style.” I laugh. “They’re… understanding people. No thousand questions from them. You’ll meet them when they’re back.” I gather my hair to bring it up into a messy bun.

“Lucky.” His eyes drill into me, but then I notice it’s my finger he’s looking at. “You’re wearing the ring.” His smile is different, sentimental, proud with possessiveness. It’s a complete turn-on, if I’m honest.