Page 34
“God help us,” I murmur as we approach the curb.
“What’s that?” Kingston asks, glancing sideways, breath clouding in the crisp air.
I flash him a grin. “Just thinking about our future defensive line.”
He laughs, that warm, honey-smooth sound that manages to cut through even the chaos of the city. “Back-up squad, baby. We’re gonna have the most stacked peewee roster in the state.”
We duck into the waiting town car, and before I can fully process the silence of the backseat, Kingston reaches for my hand again. His thumb glides over my knuckles like it’s second nature. “You doing okay?”
“Better than okay,” I admit. “A little stunned. I was convinced we’d get a curveball.”
He smirks. “Doesn’t matter what position they play. They’re already part of the team.”
My mind flickers to the matching blue-and-white onesies he gave me last night—the ones folded neatly in tissue paper at the bottom of our closet. Tucked beside a baby blanket and whatever shred of composure I had left.
“I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t go for pink,” I tease, nudging his knee.
Kingston shrugs, all effortless charm. “I would’ve made it look tough.”
“You make everything look tough.”
We share a look, thick with that low hum of wonder that hasn’t stopped vibrating in my chest since the appointment. This is happening. Me and Kingston. A family.
The word still feels brand new in my mouth.
To celebrate, he takes me to the one place I’ve always wanted to go but never made time for: the Blue Box Café. It’s dreamy and posh and practically purrs elegance when we step off the elevator at Tiffany’s. The kind of place that smells like money and butter and still feels like magic.
A hostess greets us like we’ve been expected all along, and within minutes, we’re tucked into a robin’s egg blue booth, sipping mocktails. I cradle my belly with both hands as I scan the brunch menu, even though I already know I’m ordering the smoked salmon and bagel tower. It’s indulgent. Classic. Exactly what this moment deserves.
“I can’t believe you remembered this place,” I murmur, trying not to cry because hormones are rude and my eyeliner is very much not waterproof.
Kingston leans in, brushing his lips against my temple. “I remember everything you’ve ever said when you didn’t think I was listening.”
My heart squeezes. Hard.
He’s grinning like he just won the Super Bowl and got handed a lifetime supply of Oreos. I, on the other hand, am sitting across from him trying not to spiral in the middle of a Tiffany-blue dream.
The café glimmers around us—white marble, pastel walls, velvet seats so plush they feel like a safety net. I twirl the straw in my overpriced lavender lemonade, watching him as he picks at a croissant like it might fight back.
“I can’t believe it,” I whisper. “This life. These babies. You.”
Kingston leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes locked on mine. “My back-up squad,” he says, voice low and gravelly, the kind that knocks the air out of my lungs.
My lips twitch. “You mean your full-on starting lineup.”
He grins. “Exactly. Training starts the minute they can sit up without face-planting. I’ll be the world’s most intense tee-ball dad.”
I roll my eyes, the gesture fond and familiar. Then my finger finds the edge of my water glass, tracing it slowly as the weight of everything finally catches up.
“Are you still sure about this?”
He pauses mid-bite.
I let the words hang, suspended between us like a wire strung too tight. “About being with me. About this. Now that it’s real. Now that it’s not just an idea, but two actual babies who’ll never share your blood but will still call you Dad. That’s… a lot.”
His brow furrows. “Mya—”
“I know you said you’re in this,” I continue, the words tumbling out in a rush. “But we were kids when we fell in love. It was easier back then. Easier than now, anyway. Now it’s messy and overwhelming and terrifying. And they’re not even here yet and I already feel like I’m screwing everything up.”
