FLYNN
The vineyard hums with life, the kind that doesn't come from the vines or the soil but from the chaos of eight small bodies weaving between the rows.
Eve, now fourteen, barks orders at her younger siblings like a tiny general, her dark hair whipping in the breeze as she directs Frank and Brandon to hang lanterns between the trellises.
Sarah, the little mimic, copies her tone perfectly, hands on her hips, while Tom and Gail bicker over who gets to carry the basket of fresh-picked grapes.
And Faye.
God, Faye.
She's kneeling in the dirt, her sundress hiked up around her thighs, laughing as Willow and Harry smear grape juice across her cheeks like war paint.
The sun catches the silver threads in her hair—threads I put there, between midnight feedings and teething crises and the quiet moments when we thought we'd collapse from exhaustion but didn't. She looks up, catches me watching, and her smile softens, just for me.
"Daddy!" Harry shrieks, launching himself at my legs. "Willow said I can't have any more grapes!"
I scoop him up, his sticky fingers clutching at my shirt. "Did she now?"
Willow crosses her arms, her pigtails askew. "He ate six already. Mom said two."
Faye wipes her hands on her apron, leaving a streak of purple across the fabric. "She's not wrong, bud."
Harry's lower lip trembles. "But they're my grapes."
I set him down and crouch in front of him, my knees popping like dry kindling. "Tell you what. You help me set up the tables for the festival, and I'll sneak you one more. But only if you promise not to tell your sister."
His eyes widen. "Really?"
"Really."
He takes off like a shot, nearly colliding with Brandon, who's lugging a crate of wine bottles like it's nothing. The kid's got my build already, broad shoulders and a stubborn set to his jaw. He jerks his chin at me. "You gonna help or just stand there?"
I ruffle his hair, and he ducks away with a scowl. "Watch it, old man."
Faye's laughter rings out again, bright and warm, and I turn just in time to see her press a kiss to Eve's temple before sending her off with a swat to her backside. The girl rolls her eyes but grins, and I know that look—it's the same one Faye gives me when she thinks I'm being overprotective.
I cross the distance between us in three long strides and pull her against me, my hands spanning her waist. She fits there like she was made for it, her back to my chest, her head tipping back to rest against my shoulder. "You're gonna spoil them," she murmurs, but there's no heat in it.
"They're already spoiled." I press my lips to the shell of her ear. "By you."
She hums, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my forearms. "You're biased."
"Damn right I am."
The kids are a storm around us—Eve bossing, Brandon scowling, Sarah and Tom chasing each other in circles, Gail and Willow giggling as they weave flower crowns.
Harry, true to his word, is "helping" me set up tables, which mostly involves him dragging a chair across the grass and declaring it "Daddy's throne. "
Faye watches them, her eyes soft. "We did good, didn't we?"
I don't answer. I don't need to.
Because the proof is right here.
The vineyard is alive in a way it never was before, not even under Evelyn's careful hands.
It's messy and loud and perfect. The kids' laughter bounces off the hills, the scent of crushed grapes and earth thick in the air.
Eve's voice rises above the rest as she argues with Brandon about the best way to string lights, and Faye sighs, shaking her head.
"They're gonna break something."
"Probably."
"You're not worried?"
I turn her in my arms, my hands cupping her face. Her skin is warm, her lashes dusting her cheeks when she blinks up at me. "I'm not worried about anything."
She smiles, slow and knowing. "Liar."
I kiss her then, because I can. Because ten years, eight kids, and a thousand sleepless nights haven't dulled the way her mouth fits against mine.
She melts into me, her hands fisting in my shirt, and for a second, the world narrows to just this—the heat of her, the taste of her, the way her breath hitches when I deepen the kiss.
A chorus of groans erupts around us.
"Ew."
"Gross."
"Do they have to do that?"
Faye pulls back, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen. She doesn't look away from me, though. Not even when Eve fake-gags. "Get used to it, kids," she says, her voice rough.
The kids scatter like dandelion seeds in a storm—Eve herding the younger ones toward the house with a promise of s'mores, Brandon already halfway to the barn where he's convinced there's a stray cat hiding, and Harry trailing after me with his arms outstretched like an airplane.
I scoop him up before he faceplants into the dirt, his giggles vibrating against my chest.
Faye watches them go, her fingers toying with the hem of her apron.
The late afternoon sun paints her in gold, turning the silver in her hair to liquid metal.
She's softer now than she was at twenty, her body curved with the proof of what we've made together—stretch marks like constellations across her hips, the faint swell of her belly that never quite faded after the twins.
I trace one of those lines with my thumb when I pull her close, my palm splaying over the small of her back.
"You're staring," she murmurs, but her lips twitch.
"Can't help it." My voice is rough. "You're too beautiful."
She rolls her eyes, but her breath catches when I press my mouth to the pulse point beneath her ear. "Flatterer."
"Stating the facts."
She hums, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt. "The kids are gonna knock out tonight."
"Mmm." I nip at her earlobe, and she shivers. "Good."
She pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, her cerulean eyes dark with something that makes my blood heat. "You know what that means."
"Yes." I brush my thumb over her bottom lip, and she parts for me, her tongue darting out to taste the pad of my finger. The wet heat of her mouth sends a jolt straight to my cock.
She exhales, her breath warm against my skin. "I'll call it in early night."
I grin. "That so?"
"Mhm." Her hands slide up my chest, her nails scraping lightly over my nipples through the thin fabric of my shirt. "And after everyone's asleep?—"
"You think I'm gonna wait that long?"
Her pupils dilate. "Flynn."
I love the way my name sounds on her lips—like a warning, like a prayer. I tighten my grip on her waist, my fingers digging into the soft flesh there. "You've been teasing me all day. Walking around in this little sundress, bending over to pick up grapes."
She laughs, breathless. "I was not?—"
"You were." I cut her off with a kiss, swallowing her protest. She melts against me, her body pliant, her hands fisting in my hair.
I walk her backward until her spine hits the rough bark of an old oak, the leaves above us casting shifting shadows over her skin.
"You know what happens to bad girls who tease their daddies? "
Her breath hitches. "What?"
"They get punished."
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