GRIFFIN

Three years later

I hope whoever gave Colton a drum set for Christmas got coal in their stocking. It sure wasn’t me. I like to stir him up now and then, but drums are too far.

The puzzle where every piece makes the sound of the corresponding barnyard animal? That one was from me.

My little nephew marches around my mom’s house rum-pum-pumming everyone straight into a headache. He’s adorable, with curly blond hair like Rowan’s and chubby cheeks and mischievous eyes that hint of Caleb. Adorable, but about fifty decibels louder than I need him to be right now.

I scoop him up, subtly separating him from the prized toy. Can’t tell yet if a tantrum is in order, but if he gets unhappy about the drumsticks being temporarily out of reach, I’ll pretend innocence. “All right little man, we don’t need a drum solo through Christmas dinner.”

I gently dig my fingers against Colton’s ribs, making him giggle. He squeals my name, that little Gwiffin tugging something tender in my heart. Never thought I’d love being an uncle so much. I blow a raspberry on his plump cheek and set him down again, patting his butt to send him in his father’s direction.

Colton immediately veers toward the table laid out with six place settings, probably to see how many tugs it takes before he can pull the tablecloth and all the dishes onto the floor. Caleb intercepts him and hefts him up to plop onto his shoulders. Naturally, Colton starts slapping his open hands on Caleb’s head.

See? Never even needed the sticks.

Rowan moves closer to them, her eyebrows raised. “You’re sure you want another one?”

My brother’s expression lights with pure joy, as though Colton isn’t banging an erratic beat on his cranium. “Yes, please.”

She shakes her head at him, but as wide as she’s smiling, I suspect he’ll get his wish one of these days.

Caleb notices me on my way to the kitchen. “Everything okay in there?”

I pick up the pace, hoping to avoid any color commentary. “All good.”

He just smirks, but I ignore him. Dealing with his triumph isn’t my top priority right now.

In the kitchen, Mom’s peeking at the turkey. Delicious smells waft from the open oven, but I go straight to the fridge and pour a glass of cold water. I grab a warm roll from the tray where they’re cooling, too. A bite to eat won’t hurt.

Probably. As soon as we get a sense of where things are at food-wise, something changes. It’s an ever-changing menu of likes, dislikes, cravings, and if I so much as smell that I will lose my lunch.

“How’s she feeling?” Mom asks.

“Just tired. She gets winded pretty easily.”

Her eyes sparkle with affection. And maybe a touch of amusement.

“Growing a human is a lot of work.”

I make a sound of agreement and duck back out to the living room. With Colton distracted for the moment, it’s peaceful in here again. We’ve probably got less than ten minutes, but I’ll take it.

I set the glass of water and plate with the roll on the side table and drop into a catcher’s squat next to Hope’s chair. “Feeling any better?”

“I’m fine, I just don’t think I’ve been able to take a full breath for a solid month. Your baby is huge.”

Her tone is scolding, but her eyes are full of so much love, I’m having a hard time breathing, too. It still hits me between the ribs every time I look at her—this love we share, our life together, and soon, a new little one. I hope I never forget to enjoy every moment.

I slip my hand over her rounded belly. “He’s just the right size.”

She shifts my hand to the side and holds it there, waiting. “She.”

We decided to let the baby’s sex be a surprise, and we’ve switched our predictions a dozen times so far. He, she—I’m happy no matter what. I’ll strum 70s guitar rock by their crib and teach them to pitch either way. I’ll be there for them, win or lose.

A fluttery kick moves Hope’s belly beneath my hand. The small movement makes my heart kick, too. It’s such an unreal thing to know that’s our baby in there squirming around. Not gonna lie, it still makes me think of Alien just a little, but I never tell Hope that.

“Do you need anything else?”

She shakes her head. “I’m good.”

“Do you want another pillow for your feet?” I’d propped them up as soon as she sat down, but she could probably be more comfortable.

“This is fine.”

“There’s a ton of food in there already if you want something besides the roll. I can slather that thing with jam, bring you in a slice of pie, whatever you want.”

Somewhere behind me, someone snickers. I turn to see Caleb, Rowan, and my mom watching us from the dining room. All they need is for Colton to join them with a satisfied look on his chubby little face, and I’d have a complete set. Hope should paint them—Smug Family Portrait.

“Can’t a man adore his wife in peace?”

They laugh over my pretend grumbling, but at least they slip away. I swear, sometimes they act like they’ve never seen someone in love before.

Down deep, I get it. I’d never been in love before—and now I’m so far gone over Hope and this baby, there’s no going back. Not that I’d ever want to. I’ve got everything I could ever want right here. Still, nobody likes a gloater.

“It sounds like Colton lost his drum.” There’s a hint of congratulations in the curve along Hope’s mouth. She’s the one who’d sent me after it in the first place.

“Like magic.”

“Save some of your tricks for when we go to my parents’ house tonight.”

Lila’s daughter just started walking, and nothing is safe anymore. Bit of a baby explosion in this family, but nobody’s complaining. Well, maybe a few complaints about all of the drinks spilled by curious toddlers, but that’s on us for thinking we’re quicker than them.

“I still have plenty of magic left, sweetheart.” I lean in for a kiss. It starts out soft and sweet, but Hope grabs the front of my shirt to tug me closer. Just when things start to get good, the baby gives an almighty kick, making their objection known.

Hope laughs against my mouth. “Thwarted by the baby already.”

I bend down to get my face close to her belly. “You’re not my boss,” I say softly as her stomach wiggles from the inside again.

Hope smiles at me, that love-filled look in her eyes. “Yes, we are.”

“Yes, you are,” I agree.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.