38. Blake
Chapter 38
Blake
T he morning sun cast everything in golden light as we walked through downtown Willowbrook, and I couldn't stop smiling. The Renewal Festival had transformed our quiet little town into something magical—colorful banners fluttered from every storefront, the scent of kettle corn and funnel cake drifted through the air, and music spilled out from the main stage set up in the town square.
Xander pushed Amelia's stroller with one hand, his other arm wrapped around my waist as we navigated through the growing crowd.
She was wide-eyed and babbling excitedly, pointing at everything with chubby fingers—the face painter's booth, the balloon artist, the carousel that had been trucked in for the weekend.
"Look at all this," I said, gesturing at the festival spread out before us. "I can't believe our little town put together something this incredible."
"Delaney mentioned they've been planning it for months," Xander said, steering us around a group of children chasing bubbles. "Apparently the tourism board is hoping to make it an annual thing."
I nodded, but I was only half listening. My mind was spinning with creative possibilities as I took in the riot of colors around us. The vivid reds and yellows of the carnival games, the soft pastels of cotton candy, the rich jewel tones of the handmade quilts hanging in the craft section. Everything felt more saturated, more alive than usual, like someone had turned up the contrast on the world.
"I need to get supplies," I said suddenly, stopping in front of a booth selling handmade soaps and candles. The vendor had arranged her wares in a rainbow display that made my fingers itch for a paintbrush.
Xander raised an eyebrow. "Art supplies? At a craft fair?"
"No, I mean from the art store in Blue Point Bay," I clarified, pulling out my phone to make a note. "I've been thinking about changing up my technique. Maybe starting with acrylics for the base layers—they dry faster, and I can get those bright, bold colors I want. Then I could work over them with oils for depth and realism."
"That sounds complicated," he said, but his eyes were warm with interest. "And exciting."
I grinned, bumping his shoulder with mine. "The best techniques usually are. But I think it could give me exactly the effect I'm looking for. Imagine being able to capture this"—I gestured at the festival around us—"all that vibrant energy, but with the subtle details that make it feel real."
Amelia chose that moment to reach for the soap display, nearly launching herself out of her stroller. Xander caught her with practiced ease, lifting her up to sit on his hip instead.
"Better view up here, little bug?" he asked, holding her steady as she squealed with delight.
I watched them together, my heart doing that familiar flip it always did when I saw how naturally fatherhood had come to Xander. Amelia hands bracketed his cheeks as she chatted away in her baby language while he nodded seriously, as if he understood every word.
"We should get her face painted," I suggested, pulling out my phone to snap a photo of them. "Something tells me she'd love to be a butterfly."
"Only if you get one too," Xander said, grinning down at me. "I want to see what you'd choose."
Before I could answer, a familiar voice called out behind us. "Well, look at this happy family."
I turned to see Ethan approaching, but instead of the awkward tension I might have expected, his smile was genuine and warm. He looked different somehow—more relaxed, like he'd found his own version of contentment.
"Ethan," I said, genuinely pleased to see him.
"How are you?"
"Good. Really good, actually." He glanced between Xander and me, taking in the obvious changes in our dynamic—the way Xander's arm tightened protectively around my waist, the way I leaned into him without thinking. "I heard congratulations are in order. The adoption went through?"
"Last week," I confirmed, unable to keep the pride from my voice. "She's officially ours now."
"That's wonderful news, Blake. Really." Ethan's smile reached his eyes.
"I always knew you'd be an incredible mother. Even if I didn’t show it very well."
Heat crept up my neck at the memory of those early, terrifying days.
"I had a lot of help," I said, glancing up at Xander.
"We all did," Xander added quietly, and I knew he was thinking about his own journey, his own fears about being worthy of this family we'd built.
"Speaking of help," Ethan said, "I should mention that DCFS officially closed your case yesterday. Everything's been finalized. You're free and clear."
I felt a weight I hadn't even realized I was still carrying lift from my shoulders. "Really? It's over?"
"It's over," he confirmed. "You did it, Blake. All of you."
Amelia chose that moment to babble something reaching out for the soap display again only to erupt in a belly laugh when Xander spinned her away. Ethan's expression softened as he watched the interaction.
"She's lucky to have you both," he said simply.
"We're the lucky ones," Xander replied, his voice thick with emotion.
A comfortable silence settled between us, broken only by the sounds of the festival around us—children laughing, music playing, the cheerful chaos of a community celebrating together.
"Well," Ethan said finally, "I should let you get back to enjoying the festival. But Blake?" He caught my eye. "I'm really happy for you. You deserve all of this."
After he walked away, I stood there for a moment, processing the interaction.
"That went better than expected," Xander observed, shifting Amelia to a more comfortable position in his arms.
"Much better," I agreed. "I think we're all finally where we're supposed to be."
We continued our walk through the festival, stopping to watch a puppet show that had Amelia absolutely transfixed, sampling honey sticks from the local beekeepers, and letting Amelia pet the therapy dogs from the animal rescue booth. Every interaction felt easy, natural. It was almost like we'd been doing this family thing our whole lives instead of just figuring it out as we went.
"I should probably head to the clinic soon," Xander said as we approached the main stage where a bluegrass band was setting up. "We have some new patients checking in this afternoon, and I want to make sure they're settling in okay."
I nodded, though I felt a small pang of disappointment. These lazy weekend mornings together had become precious to me, time when we could just be a family without the pressures of work or responsibilities intruding.
"How long do you think you'll be?" I asked, taking Amelia from him as she started to squirm.
"A few hours, probably. Just long enough to do initial consultations and make sure everyone's comfortable." He pressed a kiss to my forehead, then another to Amelia's. "You two could stay here, enjoy the festival. I'll meet you back at home for dinner."
"Actually," I said, an idea forming, "I think I might drive into Blue Point Bay. Get those art supplies I was talking about. I'm feeling inspired, and I don't want to lose the momentum."
His eyes lit up with understanding. "The new technique you mentioned?"
"Exactly. I want to try capturing all of this"—I gestured at the festival around us—"while it's still fresh in my mind. All these colors, this energy..."
Xander's smile was so proud it made my chest ache. His arm wrapped around my waist as he pulled me close, kissing me softly before he said, "I love seeing you like this. So excited about your work again."
"I love feeling like this again," I admitted. "Like I have something to say, and the tools to say it."
He kissed me again, soft and sweet, right there in the middle of the festival crowd. When we broke apart, I was breathless, still amazed that this man was mine, that this life was ours.
"Go create something beautiful," he murmured against my lips.
"I will," I promised. "We already did."
As I watched him walk away, Amelia babbling contentedly in my arms, I felt that familiar surge of creative energy building inside me. The festival swirled around us in a kaleidoscope of color and sound, and I could already see how I wanted to capture it—bright acrylics for the base, building up layers of joy and community and belonging, then those final oil details to make it all feel real and tangible and true.
Just like this life we'd built. Bright and bold and absolutely, perfectly ours.