Epilogue
Kaia
One year later
There are three things I know with absolute certainty.
First, marriage has not made Zain Carson less bossy.
Second, he still drinks coffee that tastes like punishment.
Third, he is terrible at pretending he is not emotional.
I stand in the middle of our kitchen with one hand resting low on my stomach while he stares at the pregnancy test on the counter.
For a man who has walked into burning buildings, he looks remarkably unprepared for two pink lines.
“Well?” I ask.
His eyes lift to mine.
“You’re pregnant.”
“I had gathered that.”
He says nothing.
I narrow my eyes.
“Zain?”
Then he moves.
One second I am standing beside the counter, and the next his arms are around me, holding me so carefully that my throat closes.
I laugh against his chest.
“You know I am not breakable.”
“I know.”
His hand spreads over my stomach.
He goes quiet again.
This time, I understand.
Our wedding was six months ago, small and loud and perfect.
Joyce cried harder than I did. Bev brought enough pie to feed half of Whispering Pines.
The fire crew claimed they were there to support their chief and then spent most of the night reminding him that everyone had noticed his interest in me long before he admitted it.
The cabin is not quiet anymore.
My paintings cover the walls. Orange cushions occupy the couch. There are plants everywhere, including a fern named Ivy Two, which Zain insists is a terrible name while watering her whenever I forget.
And now this.
A baby.
The family he once thought he would never have.
I pull back enough to look at him.
“You okay?”
His jaw tightens.
Then he nods.
“I’m happy.”
The roughness in his voice nearly undoes me.
I touch his face.
“Good.”
His hand remains over my stomach.
“I’m going to be a dad.”
“Yes.”
He looks terrified.
I smile.
“You’ll be wonderful.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
His eyes search mine.
I think about foster homes. About a boy who learned not to expect anyone to stay. About the man who built his whole life around saving people because being needed felt safer than being loved.
Then I think about the way he already loves.
Completely.
Without hesitation.
“You are going to love this baby so much,” I whisper.
His forehead rests against mine.
“Already do.”
My eyes sting.
I laugh softly.
“Careful, Chief. That was dangerously sweet.”
His gaze darkens.
Interesting.
Even after a year, some things never change.
I rise onto my toes and kiss him.
His arms tighten around me.
It took me a long time to understand that love does not come with conditions.
Love looks like Zain’s hand over our baby.
It sounds like his rough voice saying my name.
It feels like being chosen every day.
***
THE END