Page 115 of Make it a Double

I laughed, leaning in over the scrapbook of memories to kiss her. “Okay. Deal. You just tell me when you’re ready.”

Our story may not have been conventional, but it was just that. Ours. Even knowing I missed the first few months of Sawyer’s pregnancy, I wouldn’t change a single thing about it if I could. We ended up where we needed to be. That was all that mattered.

Oliver’s quiet cries had us pulling apart, and Sawyer grabbed the baby monitor. She turned it to face me. Our son was squirming in his bassinet, wholly frustrated at his inability to move his arms. He hated being swaddled.

“Duty calls,” she said, pushing to her feet with the book cradled in her arms.

“I’ll be right behind you,” I said, squeezing her hand as she padded through the living area. With one last look at the nursery, I flipped off the light, following the soft sound of her voice until I found myself leaning in the doorway of our bedroom, watching Sawyer nurse our son.

She looked up when she saw me, smiling widely but never stopping singing, as Oliver suckled at her breast. There was so much love in her gaze as he grabbed hold of her finger. Sawyer didn’t give herself enough credit when it came to her maternal instincts.

Neither of us had the best role models growing up, but we vowed to be different. Not only for our sakes, but for Oliver’s as well. He would never grow up in a house wondering whether he was loved by his parents or if they would up and leave one day.

Instead, he would see two imperfect people who woke up every day and chose each other. He would spend time with his aunts, uncles, and cousins, laughing without fear of retribution. And one day, far off in the future, of course, I hoped he found the person whose heart sang the same tune as his.

“What’re you doing all the way over there?” Sawyer asked, patting the bed next to her. “Aren’t you going to join us?”

I smiled, pushing off the ledge and making my way over to the bed. “Yup. There’s no place I’d rather be.”

EPILOGUE

SAWYER - TEN MONTHS LATER

I glanced down at the white baby monitor perched on the counter before flipping over the pancakes on the griddle. Beckett’s body was draped over my empty spot, hand resting just shy of our son’s bassinet. Oliver was still sleeping peacefully—thank god—so I might actually have time to finish making his dad’s birthday breakfast before either of them woke up.

We were in the process of slowly transitioning Oliver from our bedside to his crib. Daytime naps had gone great, but the evenings were still a bit of struggle for both of us. The first time I’d hardly slept, keeping my tired eyes trained on the bleary monitor at my bedside until the sun came up. The moment I heard Oliver’s first sniffle, I was out of bed and down the hall, sweeping him up in my arms. Beckett joked that it was the beginning of becoming a helicopter parent, but he wasn’t any better off.

Just last week, I caught him standing in the doorway of our son’s room during nap time. When I asked him what he was doing, he gave me some line about enjoying the view, but never clarified whether it was the Canadian geese building their nest along the waterbank or our sleeping son.

I had money on the latter.

To make matters worse, Oliver had recently started teething and was raising absolute hell about how much he hated it. Seeing him in so much pain nearly killed me, so naturally, last night I laid him in the small bassinet by our bed rather than down the hall. He cried and cried and cried no matter what Beckett or I did. It wasn’t until the very early hours of the morning that he finally quieted, letting us snag a few hours of peace and quiet.

I loved my son dearly, but running on only two hours of sleep at best was not the ideal start to what was going to be a chaotic day.

Taking a sip of coffee, I groaned. It was the only thing, save for my sheer determination, that was keeping my eyes open. Between becoming parents, house renovations, and Beckett starting his own company, we hardly had time to breathe. Not that I would change anything about the past ten months. The stress was worth it when I looked into Oliver’s eyes or slid between the sheets next to Beckett.

That was what happiness felt like.

After our son was born, Beckett threw himself into work alongside Lukas on our renovations. He’d spent his whole life in boardrooms, schmoozing men in suits, and now he had no idea what the hell he was doing. I was worried he’d bitten off more than he could chew for a while, but their partnership had really taken off over the past few months.

He was determined to be everything his father wasn’t, choosing to help people bring their dreams to life instead of squashing them for profit. With Lukas’ comprehensive construction knowledge and Beckett’s savvy business-forward mind, the two men were determined to help Pinecrest flourish. They teamed up with Cleo and Grady to transform Margaret’s old flower shop into a blooming bakery on Main Street, complete with a fresh flower station curated weekly by the former owner herself. Once word got around, there were people lining up to secure Beckett’s development services.

Meanwhile, I only worked part-time at the bar when Duke or Liv needed an occasional stand-in, which was few and far between. Strangely, the career I’d been so scared to lose became infinitely less intriguing after I held Oliver. I never wanted to let him go.

Strong arms banded around my middle, bringing a smile to my face as Beckett rested his chin on my shoulder. Warmth radiated from his bare chest and seeped through my nightshirt. Even though I’d spent the past thirty minutes bustling around the kitchen surrounded by sweet syrup and mouthwatering bacon, the faint whiff of his body wash was all I could focus on.

“Morning, sugar,” he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep.

My head fell back as he turned to press a kiss to my neck. “You’re supposed to still be asleep. I had a whole plan to wake you up with breakfast in bed. Now my surprise is ruined,” I pouted. It was half-hearted at best, especially as his hands roamed over the thin fabric.

“Not ruined. Just re-located.” His lips curled against my skin. “And the benefit of privacy.”

“Privacy, huh?” I turned over my shoulder, drinking in the sight of Beckett’s tousled curls and sleepy, yet roguish, smile. “What would we need that for?”

There went his hands again, roaming with intention down my hips before slipping beneath the fabric of my shirt like a heat-seeking missile. His fingertips had lost some of their softness thanks to the manual labor. Not that I was complaining in the slightest. I loved the way the roughness of his touch felt against my skin.

“Well, I’m craving something particular,” he said, slowly pinning me against the counter with his hips. The outline of his rigid length dug into my ass, causing me to bite down on my lip. “Something sweet.”