Chapter 14
Adam
Saturday mornings are never quiet with Emma around—she's up at dawn, singing off-key to the radio, making her stuffed animals talk to each other in increasingly dramatic voices. But today the restlessness feels different.
June's been at the bakery since sunrise after spending half the night at the hospital with Maya. I can't stop thinking about her—she must be exhausted.
I fill a thermos with the strongest coffee I have and tell Emma to grab her shoes.
"Where are we going?" Emma asks, already halfway into her jacket.
"To see June."
She doesn't need to hear it twice.
At the bakery, the bell above the door chimes as we step inside. The air is thick with sugar and yeast, something cinnamon-warm coming from the ovens. Emma makes a beeline for Riley, barely glancing back.
"Riley! Come see my sticker collection!" She's already elbow-deep in her backpack, pulling out a battered notebook covered in sparkly unicorns.
Riley laughs. "Again? You showed me the other day."
"I got three new ones."
June's behind the counter, re-tying her apron. She looks tired but unmistakably happy—flour already dusting her sleeve, hair in those soft waves I love, eyes bright despite the dark circles underneath.
The sight of her—here, after last night—does something to my chest.
I hold up the thermos. "Brought reinforcements."
Her whole face lights up. "My hero." She practically snatches it from my hands, unscrewing the cap and taking a long gulp. Her eyes flutter closed. "Oh God, that's good. I'm running on sugar fumes and spite at this point."
I grin. "How's Maya? How's Theo?"
"Perfect. Tiny and wrinkly and perfect." She fumbles for her phone, thumb swiping through photos. "You have to see him. Maya's still pretty out of it, but Lucas is a complete mess in the best way."
She tilts the screen toward me. Maya in the hospital bed, exhausted and radiant. Lucas grinning so wide it looks painful. Then a close-up of impossibly tiny fingers wrapped around Maya's thumb.
Then there's one of June herself—cradling Theo, something awestruck and tender in her expression. The way she's looking at him, like he's the most precious thing in the world.
I can't look away.
She'd be an amazing mother. Already is, with Emma. And maybe—someday—with ours.
The thought hits me so hard I have to steady myself against the counter.
June catches my expression, something flickering across her face. "Watching Maya with Theo last night, watching Lucas become a dad..." She pauses. "It made me think."
"About?" My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to.
She hesitates, smile growing softer. "About the future."
My heart stutters. "What kind of future?"
She meets my eyes. "You. Emma. This life we're building." Her voice drops lower. "Maybe more. Someday."
Something raw and bright cuts through me—hope and want and yes, all tangled together.
I step around the counter and pull her close, not caring that Riley's there or that Emma might look up any second. "Someday sounds perfect."
"We have to survive Sarah first," she murmurs against my chest.
"We will." I press a kiss to the top of her head. "And then we build whatever life we want."
She pulls back just enough to look up at me, eyes shining. "Sounds wonderful."
Behind us, Emma's voice pipes up. "Are you guys being mushy again?"
Riley snorts.
June laughs, cheeks flushing. "Maybe a little."
Emma wrinkles her nose dramatically. "Gross."
But she's grinning.
I look into June's eyes and the look we share is full of promise—complicated, and completely worth fighting for.
For a moment, standing in this flour-dusted bakery with my daughter showing off stickers and the woman I love in my arms, everything feels possible.
***
Afternoon sunlight stretches across Maya and Lucas's living room, soft and full of dust motes, like the world's holding its breath.
It's been a week since Theo arrived, and already their house feels different—swaddled in the gentle chaos only a newborn brings.
There's a folding bassinet by the recliner, bottles lined up on the counter like soldiers, burp cloths draped over every surface.
We arrive bearing casseroles, bakery boxes, Harper's nervous energy, and more hands than strictly necessary.
Maya meets us at the door, exhausted but smiling—towel-dried hair pulled into a messy knot, Theo bundled against her chest in one of those complicated wraps that looks like origami.
"He's sleeping," she whispers, like saying it any louder might wake him. Her eyes gleam with that strange, liquid pride only new mothers have.
June's at her side immediately, arms already reaching. "Can I?"
Maya transfers him carefully, and I watch—caught by the way June's entire face softens as she cradles him.
Theo's a tiny, warm weight, his whole fist no bigger than her thumb.
The others drift toward the kitchen, but I stay where I am, watching June rock gently side to side, humming something soft under her breath.
She's a natural.
Harper circles cautiously, hands hovering like she's afraid to get too close. "He's so small. What if I break him?"
Maya snorts, exhausted but still sharp. "You won't break him. Support his head. You'll be doing this yourself in five months."
"Don't remind me," Harper mutters, accepting Theo like he's made of spun glass. Nate hovers behind her, torn between amusement and terror.
"Relax, Harps," he says. "You're doing great."
"I'm holding him like a football."
"A very precious football."
Lucas appears from the kitchen with coffee. "That's basically what babies are. Precious footballs that cry and leak."
Maya glares at him. "You're not helping."
The handoff continues—a sacred rotation. When Emma slides onto the couch, face serious, I crouch beside her.
"Want to hold Theo?" I ask.
She nods, eyes huge. "Can June help?"
June settles beside her, carefully easing Theo into Emma's lap, one arm circled protectively around them both. Emma's breath catches as she looks down at him.
"He's so tiny," she whispers, awestruck. "Was I this tiny?"
"Even tinier," I tell her, throat suddenly tight.
She studies Theo's wrinkled face with absolute reverence, one finger gently touching his hand. "I'm gonna be such a good big sister to him."
I smooth her hair back. "He's not your brother, princess."
She looks up at me, completely unfazed. "I know. But I can practice, right? For when June has a baby?"
The room goes silent.
Everyone's suddenly very interested in us—Harper mid-sip of coffee, Nate frozen with a casserole dish, Maya and Lucas exchanging amused glances.
June laughs, pink flooding her cheeks. "That's... not happening anytime soon, Em."
Emma shrugs, unbothered. "But someday?"
I clear my throat. "Someday's a long way from now. Let's focus on today, okay?"
Emma accepts this with a solemn nod and turns her attention back to Theo.
But the damage is done.
Harper's smirking at me over her coffee mug. "You're staring, Adam."
"Am I?" I try for innocent. It doesn't work.
She elbows Nate. "He's totally picturing June pregnant with his baby."
"Harper," June protests weakly.
"What? I'm just stating facts." Harper grins. "The man's got heart eyes."
Maya laughs from her recliner. "Leave him alone. He can't help it. June's holding a baby. That's basically biological warfare."
Lucas nods sagely.
I roll my eyes, not trusting myself to deny any of it. Because they're not wrong.
Standing here watching June with Emma and Theo—the way she's so gentle, so natural—I can see it.
Marriage. More kids. All of it.
And I want it.
***
Monday morning comes heavy. My phone's already buzzing by six, vibrating off the nightstand in an aggressive stream of texts, DMs, and notifications.
At first I think it's just the usual—crew messages, reminders from Emma's school—but then I see June's name and a hundred unread messages stacked together.
I open the link someone sent.
The Sweet Spot's feature in Food and Flavor hits me like a punch to the chest—the good kind.
The headline reads: "Rising Star Baker Revitalizes Small-Town Main Street."
Photos everywhere—June in her element, all sunshine and flour-dusted confidence. One shot of the two of us together, mid-laugh, candid and real. Like we've never once been afraid of anything.
An overwhelming sense of pride surges through me as I scroll. Comments flood in—people from Willowbridge, food bloggers from across the state, strangers begging for recipes. Someone writes "Small-town romance goals" with a string of heart emojis.
I can't stop grinning.
This is huge. This is everything for her.
When I swing by the bakery, the parking lot's already packed.
The line snakes out the door, people brushing snow from their coats, stamping boots on the mat, breath fogging the cold glass.
Outside, Main Street's lampposts catch the weak winter sun, tinsel twisting in the wind, shop windows decked out with paper snowflakes and wreaths.
I push through the crowd.
Riley's voice carries over the mayhem. "Boss, we literally cannot keep up! We're out of cinnamon rolls already and it's not even nine!"
June's in constant motion—hair tucked behind her ears, apron streaked with chocolate and frosting. Calling orders, checking trays, refilling displays. Exhilarated and overwhelmed in equal measure.
When she spots me, her smile wobbles—half disbelief, half terror.
I mouth Congratulations and she laughs, breathless, mouthing back Help me.
Riley corners her between customers, clutching the order pad. "We need to expand. Like, yesterday. Maybe hire two more people. Get a bigger oven. Something."
June laughs, but it's tight. "I know. It's just... a lot."
I jump in without asking—ferrying coffee orders, refilling the sugar station, boxing up pastries. Whatever keeps things moving.
Chaos. The best kind, maybe. But chaos all the same.
***
That night, I show up at June's house unannounced.