Chapter 16
CALVIN
My eyes open, but the dream doesn’t end. It just changes shape.
Jules’ warmth is real, her breath steady beside mine, the kind of peace I didn’t know I could have.
Morning stirs outside the window: birds, sunlight, the low chatter of a world still waking.
Then the smell of bacon finds me, rich and smoky, the kind that makes you believe in second chances. The kind that draws a smile before you’re even awake.
By the time I shuffle into the dining room, Mom has claimed the head of the table. Two platters of pancakes tower beside her, golden edges crisp. At the griddle, she flips another, batter hissing as it hits.
“Eat first, thank me later,” she says, waving her spatula like a gavel.
Riot staggers in, clutching his chest. “Faith, my guardian angel. I was about to perish from emotional exhaustion, but now,” he inhales, dramatic as a death scene, “I am resurrected!”
Maddie groans. “Somebody feed him before he pulls something.”
Then Mrs. Dorsey breezes in, punch bowl under one arm and bubbles under the other. She sets them down like an offering. “I declare this the Day of Love!”
The room cheers, half laughing, half groaning. The energy is light. Safe.
And me? I’m just trying not to stare at Jules as she slips in behind Cara, hair a little messy, cheeks still carrying last night’s glow.
Our eyes meet across the room. Everything feels pure, warm, and safe.
“Attention, honored guests!” Riot slams a spoon against his glass like he’s officiating a wedding. “For those who tragically missed it, you are about to witness a flawless reenactment of Calvin Stewart’s Great Public Confession.”
“Oh no,” I mutter, but it’s useless.
He clears his throat, puffs his chest, and booms in a voice three octaves too deep: “I don’t have a song. I don’t have a speech. What I have is the truth I’ve carried for ten years!”
The table howls. Even Mom hides a smile. Jules buries her face in her hands, laughing, mortified.
Riot seizes Maddie’s hand, dramatic as ever. “And you! You are the love of my life! Storms and all!”
Maddie jerks free. “You’re the storm. Sit down.”
The room breaks again, chairs squeaking, dishes rattling.
Cara leans into Rodney. “So, brave man, what’d you think of the weekend? Think you can handle this kind of madness?”
Rodney’s mouth curves, faint but sure. “I’ve handled worse. A kitchen full of rowdy line cooks makes this look like Sunday school.”
Cara blinks, laugh bubbling out too quick. “Oh, so now you’re undermining my people?” She shoves his shoulder, playful.
Rodney doesn’t budge. “Not undermining,” he says softly. “Admiring.”
Color warms her cheeks, and for once, she looks away first.
I catch it all with the faintest grin. Cara may have met her match.
Breakfast fades into that soft lull of half-cleared plates and gentler voices. Someone suggests air, and soon we’re drifting onto the porch and into the yard.
The sun filters low through the trees, like heaven itself is impressed. Mrs. Dorsey recruits kids to blow bubbles into her punch, declaring it an official contest. Riot balances on the porch railing with a twig for a microphone, retelling the night for the fifth time.
And then Cara, traitor that she is, claps her hands and belts, “Jules and Calvin, sittin’ in a tree!”
“No,” Jules starts, too late. Cara is already lifting her arms like an orchestrator.
“K-I,” she drags it out, and the yard takes the bait.
Voices explode in unison, half singing, half shouting:
“K-I-S-S-I-N! G! First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in the baby carriage!”
Even Mom, of all people, joins in. Her calm Sunday voice threads through the chaos like a hymn.
Mrs. Dorsey can’t resist adding her own verse, loud and proud: “Then comes a baby with an appetite for punch!”
The porch shakes with laughter.
Rodney cuts through, low and even, like it’s just a fact. “Guess we’ll need a bigger BnB.”
For a second, silence. Then the crowd howls. Riot nearly falls off the railing.
Mom shakes her head, smiling despite herself. “Looking forward to the memories.”
Heat rushes to my face.
Jules doesn’t falter. She grins, stepping right into the joke.
“Well then, Maddie and Riot, where are the babies at?” she fires back, laughing.
Jules steps closer, eyes bright, glowing. “I didn’t expect all this before ten a.m.”
I reach for her hand, slow and sure. “Guess they’re not letting us off easy.”
Her fingers curl into mine.
I meet her eyes. “Ready?” I whisper. I glance around, making sure we’ve got the audience’s attention.
Then I slide a hand to her waist and pull her closer.
I dip her back, slow and sure, the crowd gasping like they’ve been waiting a decade for this moment.
Her hand flies to my shoulder for balance, a startled laugh breaking against my mouth as I kiss her.
The yard erupts. Cheers, whistles, applause.
Laughter swirls around us, but all I see is Jules, breathless and grinning, her hands still clutching my shirt.
We straighten, forehead resting together.
The noise fades. It’s just us.
“So… now what?” Jules whispers.
“Now,” I breathe, “we figure it out. Calls, dinners, fights, forgiveness. The whole thing.”
THE END