Chapter Forty Five
Dada’s Don’t Cry
G eorgia’s been knee-deep in Honey Bea Bash prep all weekend—clipboards, spreadsheets, flower crates, and more color-coded sticky notes than should be legal.
And I’ve helped where I can, hauling tables, lifting bins, making trips into town for extra sunshade tents and extension cords.
But this? This thing is hers. She’s taken it on with both arms and her whole damn heart.
And the thing is… watching her bring life back into this farm with nothing but determination and her wide-open soul? It’s doing something to me I don’t know how to name.
I lean against the fence, arms folded, just… watching .
Aurora toddles through the rows of tulips, her tiny sandals kicking up dust with every unsteady, supported step. Georgia crouches beside her, curls tumbling loose around her face, one arm around her waist while she guides Aurora’s hands to a bloom, talking her through how to trim it.
Our girl giggles, snipping the stem with blunt little scissors, then drops the flower into the basket with dramatic flair. She claps like she’s just won a damn award, and inside, I feel like she should.
Georgia looks up at her, laughing softly, her whole face lit from within and presses a soft kiss to her chubby cheek.
My heart ricochets so hard I nearly stagger.
Christ.
I love them.
I love them so damn much it hurts.
It hits me with no warning—like everything I’ve been holding back just decided to crash through my ribcage at once.
It’s not just affection. It’s not even just love.
It’s everything. The future I didn’t think I deserved anymore.
The quiet joy I didn’t know I needed. The sense of home I stopped believing in.
Georgia must feel it, because she glances over and catches me staring just as Aurora drops to her butt and digs her fingers into the blooms with a giggle.
My woman flushes, a slow pink creeping across her freckled, rosy cheeks. “What are you looking at, sunshine?”
I shake my head, throat thick. “Everything.”
“Everything?” she asks, barely above a whisper.
I nod, pushing off the fence and walking toward her. Her eyes stay locked on mine as I reach down and help her stand, her fingers curling instinctively into my shirt. I pull her in, soft and slow, and brush my mouth against hers.
“ My everything ,” I murmur against her lips.
The kiss deepens, lazy and warm, like the sun overhead. Her hands slip up around my neck, mine settling on her waist. It’s the kind of kiss that says I’m not going anywhere. I’m yours. The kind that hums low in your chest and steals time.
Just like always.
Months in, and I’m still not over the feel of her against me. Still rattled every single time our lips touch. Will it always be like this? Will every moment with her, with them, always feel like more?
“AHHHHHHH!”
A tiny squeal slices through the moment, followed by a sharp tug on my jeans.
We break apart, both of us laughing as Aurora stares up at us with scandalized eyes and dirt-covered fingers gripping my boot.
“She pulled herself up,” Georgia breathes, grinning wildly. “You did it, big girl!”
“Yeah,” I scoff, smiling as I mutter, “To cock block.”
Aurora shoots me a glare like she knows exactly what I just said and beats her little fist against my shin.
“Well, excuse me, ma’am,” I drawl, scooping her up under her arms and hoisting her into the air. “Didn’t know we had a chaperone.”
She shrieks in delight, legs kicking wildly as I spin her in a lazy circle. Her curls, now a little bit past her ears, bounce, and she claps her hands so hard, dirt falls in my eyes. A never ending stream of babbles leaves her gummy little mouth.
I swing her twice more, then pull her tight against my chest. She grabs a fistful of my beard like she always does, squealing with delight as her fingers tug.
“Easy, wild thing,” I mutter, tickling her belly.
“Yeah, sweetheart,” Georgia adds, stepping into my side and poking Aurora’s dimple. “I love your dada’s beard. Please don’t rip it out.”
My stomach flips at the casual words, but I’m getting used to it. Georgia refers to me as dada all the time in an effort to encourage Aurora to say it as her first word.
Well, first word besides pussy.
Thank fuck that one didn’t stick.
Aurora screeches and tugs on Georgia’s hair instead.
“Don’t yank her curls out either,” I say with a laugh, unwrapping her tiny fist.
It’s on my tongue to call Georgia mama, but like always, I’m careful, knowing too much will send her for the hills. But I’ve been practicing with our girl in private, and maybe hearing the word from a tiny mouth instead of mine will hit different.
“Dada!”
Everything in me goes still.
Georgia gasps.
I just… freeze. Like my soul just slammed on the brakes and flipped the emergency lights.
“Oh my God,” Georgia chokes out, sniffling as she coos, “Say it again. Say dada, baby.”
Aurora blinks up at me, entirely unfazed, then grins wide.
“Dada,” she says again, confident now, hands slapping against my cheeks.
My knees almost give out.
Georgia claps a hand over her mouth and starts sobbing—ugly, beautiful tears spilling down her face as she watches us. My own eyes blur, and I bury my face in Aurora’s neck, breathing her in and whispering, “Say it again.”
“Dadadadadada!”
I laugh through the tears, peppering her chubby cheeks with kisses. “That’s right, baby girl. I’m your Dada. I’m your Dada.”
And I am.
Somewhere between pain and farm chores and Georgia’s quiet love, I’ve become a dad. Unlikely as fuck, but it happened and I…
It’s everything.
She squeals, wrapping her arms around my neck and squeezing. Her whole body hugs me like she’s been waiting for this moment just as much as I have. And right then, everything else disappears.
Georgia steps in, still crying, and wraps herself around both of us.
We stay like that for a long time. A family, held together by dirt-stained hands, wildflowers, and a single, life-altering word.