Chapter 23
Fact or Fiction?
Babies are good husband blockers.
Addison
“Here, can you hold her for a second?” Trista asks, thrusting Stevie into my arms while I sit at Wyatt and Trista’s dining
room table on Thanksgiving Day. “Jo . . . can you come check the turkey with me? I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”
“On my way!” Jo says, rushing into the kitchen from the living room where she was watching football with her sons.
“I can check the turkey,” I call out, holding the baby awkwardly in my hands, but I’m completely ignored.
It’s been three weeks of living on Fletcher Mountain, and this is the first time I’ve held Stevie. I’ve been doing the kind
of nose-to-the-grind work-mode thing the past couple of weeks and haven’t really seen the ladies much since our dress fitting
night out. Admittedly, I’ve been avoiding them and my husband because things just sort of started to feel way too real, way
too fast.
But now I’m plunked right in the middle of a Fletcher family holiday and since my dad is still in Florida, I didn’t really
have any good excuse to avoid everyone.
I shoot a pleading look over to Dakota, who’s sitting across from me at the table. “Do I look weird? I’m not sure I’m great
with babies.”
“You look great. Trust me, I’m not a baby person either but this baby is like freakishly easy.” Dakota smiles and grips her
glass of white wine.
Stevie nuzzles into my chest as she sucks on her pacifier, so I sit back, letting her get comfortable in my arms. I look down at her and can’t help but smile. This isn’t so bad. “Will she walk soon? Trista said she’ll be one at Christmas, right? When do babies usually walk?”
“The grown-ups in this family have to put her down long enough to figure it out I suppose,” Dakota says with a knowing look
to the men in the living room.
I laugh as I recall when we got here earlier, and the four Fletcher brothers all took turns passing Stevie around. And then
literally all four of them stood around Ethan when he wanted a turn holding her. This little girl wants for nothing, that’s
for sure.
Dakota eyes me thoughtfully. “You’re a natural.”
My cheeks flush as I shake my head.
“I shouldn’t have said that.” Dakota holds her hands up. “I hate when a couple gets married, and people just assume you’re
having babies. Not everyone has to have babies to be happy in a relationship. I could see me and Calder just getting more
cats.”
“Yeah? You’re a cat lover too?” I ask as I smile over at Calder. His tattooed, bearded, and rugged appearance is at complete
odds with the man I see out for a walk with his tuxedo cat strapped to his chest.
“I mean, I don’t know if I need to strap them to my chest . . . but yeah, I love cats.”
I absorb her words, feeling mildly comforted by her confident thoughts behind children. There is just something so decent
about this family. They’re traditional and not. It feels . . . safe. Inclusive. Which is extraordinary in so many ways.
Dakota eyes me thoughtfully. “What about you? Kids, cats, or dogs? What’s your poison?”
I lick my lips and shrug. “I’m not really sure, I guess. Is that bad?”
“God no,” she replies with a flick of her wrist. “You have time. My first born will always be my T-shirt Shop. I’m sure yours is your lumberyard. I get it. Running a company takes a lot of bandwidth, not much room for anything else.”
“Yeah, that’s so true,” I confirm and squint my eyes as I glance down at Stevie, who’s nuzzled into my arms now and doing
long, slow blinks like she’s just about to fall asleep. Her little mouth moves as she sucks on her pacifier.
Dakota lifts her empty wineglass and grabs mine at the same time. “But for now . . . more wine.”
She heads into the kitchen to grab a new bottle, and I take a moment to gaze at the baby in my arms. A warmth spreads through
me when her little hand moves up to rest on my chest. Her fingers clenched into a tiny little fist. I just want to nibble
her fingers ever so gently. She stirs in my arms, fussing for just a second so I shush her and rock her and just like that . . .
she’s out again.
The sense of accomplishment I feel with that tiny act is overwhelming.
I look up, my eyes instantly finding Luke’s across the room. He’s staring back at me, so I smile and glance down at her and
back to him. I want him to see what I’ve done. I want him to be proud of me for . . . doing this tiny little thing with this
tiny little human.
Luke’s expression turns pensive and full of something I can’t quite decipher. It’s the same one he’s been giving me for the
past two weeks. The same one I’m avoiding for fear of what I might do. If there wasn’t a baby in my arms right now, I might
just have to stand up and walk across the room to kiss the man I married. Hormones are fucking weird like that.
“Looking forward to tomorrow, sweetie?” Jo’s voice rips me out of my inner musings.
“Huh?” I murmur, glancing down at Stevie and then back to Luke.
“The cake tasting,” Jo says, finally pulling my attention away from her son. “It’s at 11 a.m. sharp, don’t forget.”
I blow out a soft breath, trying to straighten my brain out a bit as I nod. “Oh yes, of course. I’ll be there.”
“Need me to take her?” Jo holds her hands out to Stevie but like a reflex, I pull her closer into me.
“I better keep hold of her,” I murmur into her soft hair.
“Okay, dear.” She hits me with a curious look before walking away.
I look down at Stevie’s long lashes fanning her cheeks and try to count them to refocus my brain. At least if I’m holding
this baby, I’m not trying anything with my husband, who really needs to stop looking at me like that.
The family buzzes around me as they set the table and get all the food laid out. I’m off the hook for helping as my arms are
otherwise occupied, but I can’t help but marvel over the chaotic team effort of everyone. Luke and Calder bicker over how
to line up the silverware and Jo comes over and shows them the correct way to do it. Wyatt eats almost as much turkey as he
cuts, sneaking some to Ethan, and Cozy snaps at both of them to wait to eat until everything is ready, with Max backing her
up. It’s sweet, really. Everyone has their place.
Dad never did much for the holidays. Thanksgiving was more about drinking and watching football, and Christmas just felt like
another day of the week. I’ll never forget the first Christmas we had after the accident when it was just me and him. It was
the first year that there were no stockings and no visit from Santa on Christmas morning. Of course I hadn’t believed in Santa,
but the realization that Aaron still did before he died . . .
“What’s this?” Ethan says, carrying the brown paper bag that I tucked my fresh sourdough loaf in this morning.
“Oh . . . that’s my bread that I brought to go with the meal. Thanks for bringing it over.”
Ethan’s nose wrinkles.
“Do you have a problem with bread?” I ask, arching a brow at him as I shift Stevie in my arms.
He shrugs. “It’s boring.”
“Not my bread.”
He eyes me skeptically. “What’s so cool about your bread?”
“Why don’t you get it out and see?” I smile as I watch him fumble with the bag and reach in to pull out my masterpiece that
I hid from Luke this morning for this exact moment.
“It’s a turkey!” Ethan squeals and everyone stops what they’re doing to come over and see what all the fuss is about.
“Did you make that, Addison?” Jo gasps as she looks at the loaf that I made to resemble the shape of a cooked turkey. It has
a rounded body, two wings and the appearance of two legs tucked underneath. I scored the loaf to give it a seasonal look along
with a string wrapped around the two legs holding a sprig of rosemary as garnish.
“That is incredible,” Max says, resting his hand on Ethan’s shoulders. “Edible art, Ethan.”
“Can we really eat it?” Ethan asks.
“Definitely! I have homemade tomato basil butter to go with it in the fridge.”
“Yuck,” Ethan exclaims and everyone laughs.
Trista sets the bread on a platter and places it in the center of the table with pride and I can’t help but notice Ethan hurrying
over to a seat right next to my loaf. A flash of my little brother causes my eyes to sting all over again and when I look
away, I find Luke watching me thoughtfully.
“You good?” he asks, his eyes soft and tender, making that knot in my throat even bigger.
I nod and dip my head down to inhale the scent of the baby in my arms and the food around the table. “Yeah, Luke. I’m good.”
Maybe better than I have been in a long time.