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“Yes, my love?”
“I want a baby. Or two. Or five.”
Fireworks erupted inside his gut, sparking their way up his limbs and straight into the thudding rhythm of his heart. He turned to his side and studied the blinding beauty of the woman he loved.
“Is that so?”
She nodded enthusiastically.
“It is. I want to have a baby with you. I want this legacy to go on. This legacy of love.”
“So do I, Becca,” Noah whispered, touching his lips to his mate’s. “So do I.”
They kissed in the fields, triumphant in affection and benevolent wonder.
TWENTY
BECCA
Everything in Becca’s life was coming up roses, blossoming, lush, fragrant.
She and Noah had returned to their temporary homestead on the day that they had first visited their new clan. They had lain in the field Noah had purchased from Lev and had dubbed it their field of dreams as they drew out fantasy ideas in the sky. They had spoken about the future beyond the clan, the legacy they longed to leave behind. It was both literal and metaphorical to Becca. She wanted children to continue along the lineage of community and care.
As she had expected, Noah was on board. It would have been cruel for her to fall for someone who didn’t want to forge the same path as she did. His enthusiasm filled her soul to the brim with love and encouragement.
Becca felt like all of the voids were chock-full, not only from one person but from the inspiration that his very presence brought out. They laid out a large poster sheet on the dinner table once night descended and talked all the way through the depths of the dark, the glowing lantern in the night an emblem of their flickering resolve.
The plan for the community center, along with the huts and accompanying services both Noah and Becca wanted to provide for the clan, were all realistic and financially viable. Noah proposed securing a loan from Lev to give them room to grow.
“Do you think he will go for it?” Becca asked, hunched over the table, a flimsy pencil in her hand.
Noah had put on a pot of coffee, and the two of them were riveted by the strength of the homegrown beans Lev had gifted them. Becca felt like her mind was on fire in the most beautiful way.
Noah stood straight, stroking what had budded into scruffy stubble under his chin. Becca didn’t know why, but she loved how he looked, just standing there, musing. She figured that love and attraction really didn’t need an explanation.
“Lev is all about support. Plus, he knows I’m good for it. I’ll pitch it to him tomorrow.”
Becca nodded, then ran her eyes over the rough blueprint they had managed to create in a matter of hours.
It was impressive for two people who knew very little about city planning or architecture. Or had any artistic integrity in the slightest.
Becca snorted, and it caught Noah’s attention.
“What’s that now?”
Becca dropped the pencil, and it skidded to the side of the table. She leaned on her forearms and stretched her rigid frame. She felt the spark of Noah’s eyes cascade down to her cleavage, which she was intentionally showing off in a scantily clad tank top.
“I was thinking that I hope someone can read this. Someone who understands hieroglyphics, maybe.”
Noah’s face hardened, then his eyes darted down to the page. A smile bowed on his lips.
“Didn’t I tell you I was going to change careers? I’m going to be the resident painter around these parts.”
Becca laughed, the exhaustion hitting her abruptly. She laid her head on the table, feeling her body jiggling with a deep guffaw.
“You are something else, Mr. Pierce …”
When Noah didn’t respond, Becca raised her head from the table. She found the kitchen to be empty, dimly lit by the fading light of the lantern.
