Gladly. We ease into the pink nursery, then peer into the baby bed. Darryn (for Darden) Cecelia Ivy is over a year old, with dark hair and a Cupid’s bow mouth. She sleeps on her stomach with her butt in the air, her face to the side. Her hand is wrapped around her pacifier. In her sleep, she alternates between putting it in her mouth, then knocking it against the rail of her bed.
“Is that the noise?” I whisper to Franco.
“It’s just the paci.” He blinks up at me, all innocence. “I like her better when she’s sleeping.”
I smother a laugh. Since she started walking, she has turned into a little tornado on feet. She rushes headlong into each room, discovering new things, chasing the dog, begging Franco to let her play trains with him. “She’s fun to have around, though, right?”
He sighs, his expression softening as he looks at her. “She’s all right.”
“Think you can go back to sleep, little dude?” I heave him up in my arms, and his head goes to my shoulder. He nods, soft air brushing against my ear as he breathes.
“All right.” I carry him to his room next to hers and put him in his big-boy bed. His favorite sleeping partners are lined up on the pillow next to his. A small bear in a Pythons outfit from Darden, a yellow duck in an elaborate white dress from Cece and Brogan, and a plush clown from Jasper—yes, I allowed it—plus a stuffed unicorn from the Russo girls.
Cherry jumps up to crawl under the covers with him.
“When it’s time to get up, I’ll make you waffles, yeah? Then we’ll hit the beach and play.”
He nods, his eyes already fluttering closed.
I kiss his forehead, my heart full of love for him, for Darryn, for Francesca. Sometimes I feel so grateful that I’m terrified, like something awful might whisk them away from me. I know the root of that fear, leftover trauma that may never disappear. And when that happens, I remind myself that Francesca and I aren’t my parents. We’re special. We’re, well, fated, written in the stars. And I’ll cherish each moment we share.
I walk back to my bedroom and slide back in the bed as I grab my phone from the nightstand.
“Francesca,” I sing softly. “I’m recording you snoring. The kids will laugh for days. Hell, I’m already laughing.”
She grumbles under her breath and flops over to face me.
“Franco woke me up, and now I’m wide awake,” I murmur, mostly to myself. I tap my fingers on the duvet. I could get up and work out, but ... “Ugh. No.”
Francesca grumbles under her breath. “Tuck, you’re talking in your sleep, darling ...”
She flips back over, and I snuggle in behind her, my hand curling around her waist. “No, I’m talking while I’m awake. Long story, but you should see my face. There’s a race car on it. He’s gonna be good, Fran, like incredible in art—”
“If you wanna have sex, boo, just roll me over ...,” she says around a yawn as she turns to snuggle into my arms.
“Sex wasn’t what I had in mind, but ...” My voice trails off as she melts closer to me, brushing against the tent in my boxers.
“Do that thing with your lips,” she says, her voice still lulled with sleep as her hands go to my hair, carding through the strands.
“What thing?”
“You know ...”
“Yes?” I tease.
“Where you kiss me like I’m your everything. You want me to brush my teeth first?”
I chuckle. “No, Mrs.Avery. You always taste like fresh dew in the morning.”
She grunts. “Funny.”
I kiss her softly, then smile against her lips. “You are, you know. My everything. Always will be.”
“Mmm, I love your dirty talk.”
“Oh, I can get dirtier.” Easing on top and straddling her on my knees, I wrap the covers over us like a cocoon. “I love you, Princess,” I tell her. Moments pass into slow, languid minutes as I express with my body how deeply she’s ingrained in my soul.
She tells me she loves me back, and the world—ah, it’s the perfect chaos.