Bonus Epilogue #2
A wave crashes against my chest, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I let out a quick laugh. Maybe I’m overthinking it.
Maybe being a good dad is simpler than I fear.
Love the kid, be there for them, do my best. Looking at Dad and Shepherd, that’s exactly what they do—show up and love their families fiercely. I can do that. Right?
I float for a few more minutes, letting the sun soak my worries away. Then I remember Hartford back in our room, hopefully catching some well-deserved rest. Knowing her, she’s probably still curled up in bed, hugging a pillow. The image makes me smile as I head back toward shore.
Walking up the beach, I grab my flip-flops and slip them on.
I can’t wait to see her face when she wakes.
She’s been so strong these past weeks— dealing with morning sickness, dealing with my crazy schedule.
She’s never once complained. Then again, that’s exactly who she is: a bright, unstoppable force who’s always been by my side.
I climb the short wooden steps leading to our private deck.
The glass door is still cracked open, allowing the afternoon warmth to drift in.
Stepping inside quietly, I leave a few wet droplets across the tile.
I don’t even care; housekeeping can scold me later.
Right now, I want to see my wife. I grab a towel, drying off as I head over toward the bed.
I change out of my wet swim trunks into a pair of shorts.
There she is, curled on her side, the sheet draped over her body.
Her hair fans out across the pillow, and the soft rise and fall of her breathing makes my heart swell.
She’s so peaceful, and I stand there a moment, half entranced, half in awe.
How did I get so lucky? We’ve known each other since we were five years old—practically inseparable from the day I shared my crayons during kindergarten art time.
She was adorable then, and she’s breathtaking now.
A surge of emotion hits me unexpectedly, like a wave of gratitude and fear and love all in one. That’s my best friend. That’s my wife. That’s the soon-to-be mother of my child.
I move closer, careful not to jostle the bed too much. Watching her sleep is this calm, sacred moment. The rest of the world feels far away, and for a heartbeat, everything is perfect. No deadlines, no phone calls, no panic about fatherhood. Just us.
She stirs, lashes fluttering against her cheeks as she starts to wake. I see her lips curve into a faint smile before she even opens her eyes.
“Hey,” she whispers, voice rough with sleep.
“Hey,” I reply, crawling onto the bed beside her. “How’s my favorite napper?”
She yawns, then stretches with a soft groan. “I’m fantastic. And I missed you.”
“I missed you, too.” I stroke a hand over her hair. “I went for a dip in the ocean. Pretty amazing out there. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
Hartford rolls to face me, a lazy grin forming. “Couldn’t wait to come back and watch me sleep, huh? That’s not creepy at all,” she teases, lifting a brow.
I chuckle. “Hey, it’s endearing, not creepy. I was just admiring my beautiful wife.”
Her cheeks flush slightly—she’s never gotten used to compliments, which is crazy considering how easily she floors me on a daily basis. I lean down to kiss her, and she kisses me back. Her lips are warm, sweet, and it feels like we’re the only two people in the world.
Time shifts, slows, as she presses closer, her hand sliding up to hook around my neck.
My heart beats a little faster. There’s something about Hartford—always has been—that makes me feel like a giddy teenager all over again.
We deepen the kiss, and for a minute, I swear we drift off into our own private universe.
It’s Hartford who eventually pulls away, breath slightly ragged, and I can’t help but let out a low chuckle at the flush on her cheeks. She meets my eyes with that mischievous look. But then she lays a hand on her stomach and sighs dramatically.
“Paxton, I’m starving.”
I try to bite back a grin. “Food is the only thing that can break my spell, huh?”
She bops me gently on the shoulder. “Hush. Your baby is demanding sustenance.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I slide off the bed, offering her a hand. “Can’t ignore the baby’s demands.”
“Darn right,” she says, voice playful. She glances around as if just realizing the sun is still shining brightly through the open door. “Let’s see if we can find lunch somewhere, or maybe room service. Or both.”
I laugh, helping her stand. “Room service is usually faster, but I bet you want to explore a bit, too. Let’s do both. We can get a quick snack up at the beach bar, then maybe check out the resort’s lunch menu.”
Her face lights up, and she gives me a quick, smacking kiss before reaching for her suitcase to find something a bit more vacation-appropriate than pajamas. “I love it. Let’s go feed me.”
I watch her move around the room, rummaging through her clothes and humming some random tune under her breath.
My heart feels impossibly full. Whatever worries I had at the water’s edge—even though they still linger at the back of my mind—are overshadowed by this wave of affection I have for her and our growing family.
I’m not going to let my fears ruin this.
So I pull on a fresh shirt, run a quick towel over my damp hair, and hold out an arm for her to loop hers through. Hartford flicks me a teasing smile as she links arms with me.
Just like that, we head out into the sun, ready for whatever this day brings. And I know with absolute certainty: as long as she’s by my side, I’ll figure out everything else.
Hartford
Paxton leads me up a spiral staircase to the resort’s rooftop, my hand tucked into the crook of his arm.
We step onto the terrace, and my breath catches in my throat.
The view is incredible—like something out of the fanciest travel magazine.
The moonlit ocean stretches out before us, an endless shimmer of deep blues and silver.
A gentle breeze carries the scent of saltwater and tropical blooms.
At the far edge, near the railing, is a tiny table set for two, candles flickering in the soft darkness.
Fairy lights drape across a pergola overhead, casting a romantic glow over the entire setup.
My heart practically bursts with gratitude and love for this man—my husband, my best friend, the future father of our baby.
“Wow,” I breathe, turning to him. “Paxton, it’s gorgeous.”
He lifts my hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles. “Nothing’s too good for my girl. Besides, we only get a few nights here. Gotta make them count.”
He ushers me to the table, pulling out my chair.
The resort staff must have coordinated with him, because there’s an elegant plate of appetizers waiting—tiny bites of tropical fruit, cheese, and something drizzled with honey.
The candles flicker, lighting up his face.
I see the tension lines that have been etching themselves into his brow start to relax a little.
I can’t resist reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. “Thank you,” I say quietly, hoping he can feel how much I appreciate not just this moment, but everything he does for us.
His gaze flickers up, a hint of shyness. “You’re welcome,” he murmurs. “I just wanted us to enjoy tonight…forget about everything else for a while.”
So we do. Between bites of fresh seafood and sips of fruity mocktails (Paxton gets a craft beer, courtesy of Atta Boy Brewery, of course), we swap funny stories about our day exploring the resort—like the parrot that tried to steal my hair tie and the local musician who insisted Paxton try dancing to island drums. The parrot reminds me of the one at the Saint Pierce Zoo with all the sass.
We dissolve into laughter more than once, and I realize how long it’s been since we’ve spent real time together without the weight of a schedule.
Eventually, the conversation drifts naturally to the baby—because how can it not? I rub my stomach absently, thinking about how this child is already taking over our imaginations.
“So,” Paxton says, leaning back in his chair. “Have you thought more about names?”
I laugh. “I mean, we have another seven-ish months to decide, right?”
He grins. “Yes, but you know me. I’m a planner.”
We toss around a few ideas—silly ones at first. He proposes “Hop” if it’s a boy, making me roll my eyes and shoot him a mock glare.
“Hop, like the brewery hops? Absolutely not,” I declare, unable to contain my giggles.
He pretends to be wounded, hand over his heart, and I can’t help laughing harder.
Soon, the conversation shifts. We talk about real, serious names—maybe something with family significance, or maybe something completely fresh and modern. It’s equal parts thrilling and nerve-racking to imagine who this tiny person will become.
By the time dessert arrives (a rich chocolate lava cake with fresh strawberries—my new favorite food, apparently), the mood has softened. The air feels heavier with something unspoken. Paxton reaches across to gently take my hand again, and I feel his thumb brushing over my knuckles.
“Hart,” he starts, voice quiet. “When the baby comes…I’ve been thinking. I really want you to be able to focus on taking care of yourself and the baby. If you don’t want to go back to your job at the online publication right away…or at all…I want to make that possible for you.”
I blink, absorbing his words. I’ve known he’s been stressed about work, about providing, but hearing him say it out loud stirs something in me. “Paxton…”
He shifts forward. “I’m not saying you can’t work. Of course, if that’s what you want, you know I’ll support you. I just don’t want you to feel any pressure. I’ve been hustling like crazy so I can take on more of the financial load. I want you and the baby to be comfortable.”
I squeeze his hand, my throat tight with emotion. “Thank you. I…I love writing for the publication, but honestly, I’ve been thinking of a different path. Something that might give me more creative freedom and still be family-friendly.”
His brow creases in curiosity. “Like what?”
I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face.
“I’ve always wanted to write children’s books—stories that spark a kid’s imagination, help them see the world in new ways.
And I’ve been talking to Tripp about it.
He’s already an author, so he could guide me on how to get started, how to write a pitch, how to handle queries with publishers.
And Millie owns that adorable bookstore.
She said she’d feature my books there once I get them printed. ”
Paxton’s eyes light up, and he leans in, as excited as I am. “Hart, that’s brilliant! I mean, you could create the perfect stories, especially with the baby on the way—you’ll be around kids all the time.”
“Exactly! I feel like it’d be such a good fit. And maybe I can keep writing articles in my spare time, but I’d love to put real effort into a children’s series.”
Paxton reaches out to cradle my face in one large, warm hand. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs. “I can see it now: your name on a row of picture books at Millie’s store, kids lining up to get them signed. You’d be amazing.”
My cheeks heat with pleasure and a bit of embarrassment. “I’m just brainstorming, but…yeah, it’s something I’d really like to do. Does it sound crazy?”
He shakes his head. “Not even a little. I love it. And I’ll do whatever I can to help make it happen. I’m serious. I’ll help you run ideas by Tripp, deal with any weird contracts, you name it.”
My heart feels like it’s swelling in my chest, so full of gratitude that I can barely get the words out. “Paxton, you are the best man I know.”
He ducks his head slightly, that shy smile playing at his lips. “Just trying to take care of my family.”
We both linger for a moment, letting the quiet night settle around us. The waves below are a gentle hush, the candles flicker, and I suddenly feel it—this wave of exhaustion washing over me. It’s been a long day of exploring, sun, excitement, and overwhelming happiness.
“Paxton,” I say softly, “I love this dinner you planned. But I think I’m about to fall asleep on the table.”
He stands up, laughs, and extends his arm. “Come on, mama. Let’s get you to bed.”
We thank the staff on our way out, and Paxton keeps an arm around my waist as we descend the stairs. I feel a pleasant heaviness in my limbs, the kind of exhaustion that comes from a truly magical day.
Back in our room, the sound of the ocean filters through the open balcony doors. I kick off my sandals and practically collapse onto the bed. Paxton chuckles, sliding in beside me. He reaches over to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, his gaze tender.
“Thank you for this day,” I mumble. “Everything was perfect. I can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings.”
He presses a kiss to my forehead. “Me too, Hart. Me too.”
And as my eyes flutter closed, I picture our future—a baby in my arms, a book with my name on it, and Paxton by my side. It feels bright and full of promise, and I can’t help but drift off with a smile on my face.