Page 172 of Stay Wild Darlin’

Plates clinked, silverware passed from hand to hand. Papa Banks placed his famous apple pie in the center of the table, the scent of cinnamon and buttery crust drifting through the air.

“You brought the good stuff,” I said, smiling as I helped Poppy spoon mac and cheese onto Cora’s plate.

He winked. “Only for my people.”

The conversation shifted as we passed bowls and laughed through stories. At some point, Harleigh asked, “How’re things going with your surrogate?”

Beau set down his glass and glanced at Fable, who smiled softly.

“Nervous,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Excited. Mostly trying not to panic every time the phone rings.”

“She’s doing well,” Fable added, reaching for Beau’s hand beneath the table. “It feels . . . surreal. Like it’s happening to us, but also with us. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“You don’t have to,” Poppy said. “We’re happy for you.”

The words lingered in the warm air. I looked around at the people gathered around our table, under our tree, and something about it struck me right in the chest.

Then—right in the middle of it all—Cora stood.

One chubby hand braced against the bench, the other lifted midair like she was announcing herself. She wobbled once, then took a step. Then another. And another.

“Holy—” Harleigh started.

Poppy gasped. “Cora!”

Everyone froze. Plates forgotten. Jaws dropped. Our girl, our tiny, wild thing, marched straight into the grass.

Cheers erupted around the table. Beau stood. Papa Banks wiped his eyes. Poppy had a hand over her mouth, eyes glassy.

I sat there, staring at her.

My daughter.

My walking daughter.

I laughed—choked on it a little—and stood up slow, heart full and pounding.

“Well,” I said, blinking hard, “looks like we’ve officially got a walker.”

Poppy threw her arms around me, burying her face in my chest. I kissed her deeply, and we all sat back down and watched Cora hobble around the yard.

It was the perfect time.

The kind of moment you don’t plan, you simply feel. Everyone was full, relaxed, happy.

I looked over at Poppy, who had turned the conversation back to Fable and their surrogate.

My heart beat once, hard.

Now.

I scooped Cora up gently and pressed a kiss to her cheek. My chest ached with how much I loved her. Loved them.

I stood behind Poppy for a second, watching her be herself—warm, kind, so beautiful—and then I cleared my throat.

“Hey, Poppy?”

She turned, smiling, already reaching for Cora, but paused when she saw me drop down to one knee.