Chapter 34
Callie
I drag myself out of bed, neck stiff, eyes burning, and scoop him from the portable crib beside the bed. He’s already wound tight, face red, fists balled, that sharp cry that goes straight through me.
The room feels too big. Too quiet.
Usually it’s girls in one room, guys in the other. Simple. But now the guys are across the hall, and Maddie and Macy are up in the loft. I heard their muffled talking last night, voices drifting down through the floorboards. Same with the guys across the hall.
Meanwhile, I was in here alone. Landon stuck to my chest. Nothing but the sound machine and the creak of the rocking chair keeping me company.
After he eats, I change him. He’s mad now—kicking, arching, screaming—and I’m sweating, trying to go fast without waking the whole cabin.
Of course, the diaper tab rips clean off on one side.
Of course it does. I fumble for another while he thrashes, and with his rash flaring from teething, I get diaper cream smeared all over my hand. Thick. Sticky. Like paste.
I shove the binky into his mouth and step into the hallway bathroom, bouncing him with one arm while I rinse my hands at the sink. I’m painfully aware of how loud everything is in this place—every cry, every footstep, every creak of old wood.
My heart’s racing when I hear footsteps.
Mitch appears in the doorway, hair a mess, eyes puffy with sleep. No hesitation. He just holds out his arms.
I hand Landon over and turn back to the sink, washing my hands properly now, soap and hot water, scrubbing the cream off like it’s glue.
More footsteps.
Macy comes down the stairs, pajama shorts and a cropped tee, hair piled on top of her head, eyes barely open. “Can I do anything?” she asks, voice rough with sleep.
Mitch bounces Landon, tries the binky again. It doesn’t work.
“I don’t think so,” I whisper. “He’s just…fussy. Teething.”
Mitch looks at me. “You think we should check his temp? Maybe give him Tylenol?”
Before I can answer, more movement.
Brad stumbles out, face slack with sleep, hair going every direction. “What’s the dilemma?” he mumbles.
“Teething,” Mitch says quietly.
Brad hums. “We could try whiskey on his gums.”
I gasp and immediately grab Landon back. “Absolutely not.”
Brad snorts. “I’m kidding, Cal.”
Mitch tries not to laugh. Brad’s chuckling too.
Macy rubs her arms. “I can rock him,” she offers. “I’ll take him out on the porch if you want.”
Before I can answer—
Luke shuffles out from the other room, in his underwear, half-asleep. “What the—”
“Top of the morning,” Brad says with a salute.
“Sorry, did he wake you?” I ask nervously.
“No, I just gotta whiz,” he says, confused. We all step aside and let him down the hall before we migrate toward the living room—this weird, tired little huddle in the middle of the night. A crying baby. Bare feet on old floors. Friends blinking through exhaustion.
Being together like this, even in a not-so-great situation, the loneliness eases, just a little.
* * *
The smell of coffee lingering is what finally pulls me awake. Strong. Comforting. Familiar. I smile into the pillow, grateful someone’s already ahead of the game.
Landon’s still asleep, chest rising, his swaddle loose but still one arm in and one out.
I take a second just to watch him, his lashes, the way his mouth hangs open just slightly, before carefully slipping out of bed and padding down the hall to the bathroom.
The floorboards creak like they always do, announcing every move.
From somewhere ahead, I hear muffled voices—low, sleepy, familiar.
Luke, maybe. Macy. Or Maddie. It’s hard to tell.
When I step into the main room, the picture settles.
Luke and Maddie are tangled together on the couch, legs intertwined, her head tucked into his chest, his arm draped over her.
They’re half-awake, whispering about nothing, stealing lazy kisses between words.
Relief loosens in my chest—they worked it out.
Just like they always do. This—this—is Luke and Maddie. Loud fights, but louder love.
In the kitchen, Brad’s already rummaging through the snack cabinet like he’s been awake for hours. He glances over his shoulder when he hears me.
“Morning,” he says. “You make the strawberry bars?”
I laugh. “Yes. Of course.” I cross to the fridge and pull the container out.
“Since when do they go in there?” he asks, grabbing a butter knife.
“Always,” I tell him. “You guys just eat them so fast we never have leftovers.”
He grins and pries the lid off, immediately cutting himself a square. His eyes flick down, then back up, brow lifting.
“You got a little…” He gestures vaguely with the knife, making a slow circle in front of his chest, then nods toward mine.
I glance down and laugh. Milk stains. One dark circle bigger than the other.
“Oh. Yeah. That happens,” I say easily, already turning away.
I head down the hall to change and nearly run straight into Mitch.
He’s shirtless, red athletic shorts hanging low on his hips, hair a mess, baseball cap twisted sideways like he didn’t bother fixing it after sleep. He’s midyawn, eyes barely open.
“Morning,” he mutters.
I step into him without thinking, wrapping my arms around his waist. He responds instantly, pulling me close, chin dropping to the top of my head. We stand like that for a second longer than necessary—quiet, warm, familiar.
“You’re leaking,” he murmurs.
“I know.” I laugh softly.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, lips twitching. “Just thought I’d warn you.”
“My hero,” I tease.
He kisses my forehead before letting me go, and I head into the bedroom to change quietly. Landon stirs as I do, like he can smell me.
“Hey, buddy,” I whisper, easing him up into my arms. He stretches, fists pushing up over his head. “You were kind of a pain in the butt last night, weren’t you?”
He gives me a gummy little smile in response—and then farts.
I laugh softly, shaking my head. “Yeah. You are your daddy’s twin.”
After a quick diaper change and a fresh outfit, I almost decide to stay tucked away in the room to feed him.
It would be easier. Quieter. But laughter drifts down the hall, low and familiar, and the ache of missing out settles in.
So I grab my nursing cover, adjust it over my shoulder, and head back out.
“Happy Fourth!” Brad booms the second he sees me.
He’s already seated at the table with a plate piled high with my strawberry bars—and a sparkler stuck right in the middle, hissing and crackling.
“Brad!” Macy shouts, still half-asleep, coffee barely poured.
“Dude,” Luke grumbles, rubbing his face.
“This isn’t a birthday.” Maddie laughs.
“It’s America’s birthday,” Brad argues, completely unbothered.
I shake my head and take my spot in The Chair—the old, ugly one that looks like it should be uncomfortable but somehow isn’t. It rocks, which makes it perfect. Landon settles under the blanket, nursing contentedly, while I watch the chaos unfold.
Luke makes Brad properly dispose of the sparkler before he burns the cabin down.
Macy leans against the counter, sipping coffee.
Maddie sways to whatever Lynyrd Skynyrd song is playing while she cracks eggs into a bowl, barefoot on the linoleum floor.
Mitch moves between them all, grabbing plates and silverware for the table, glancing my way every so often.
This cabin has seen us through everything—summer breaks, stupid games, late-night talks.
It’s held laughter so loud it shook the walls and silence so heavy it pressed into your chest. It’s where we learned who we were and who we weren’t.
Where we swore things would never change and then watched them do exactly that.
And now there’s a baby here.
A tiny heartbeat woven into the middle of it all.
I rest my head against the couch cushion and close my eyes for just a second, listening to the sounds of summer waking up around us. The lake. The birds. The low murmur of voices drifting through the cabin. The quiet breathing of people I love.
And, of course, now, Bruce Springsteen, crackling through the old speaker like it’s legally required to be played every Fourth of July morning.
“Why is this always the song?” Macy groans from the kitchen.
“Because it’s tradition,” Brad says through a mouthful of strawberry bar. “And because if you don’t like it, you hate America.”
Luke snorts, scrambling the eggs at the stove. Maddie’s perched on the counter in one of Luke’s T-shirts, bare legs swinging, flipping the bacon in the other pan.
Mitch moves around the kitchen grabbing condiments out of the fridge. Every now and then his eyes flick to me, quick and unreadable. Not nervous exactly, but charged. Like something’s buzzing under his skin.
When Landon is milk-drunk and satisfied, I set him on the blanket I laid out on the floor. Mitch approaches me, setting his coffee down.
“Come with me,” he says quietly, nodding toward the back door.
I blink. “What?”
He doesn’t answer, just tugs gently, already heading that way.
I pull back on his arm a little. “I didn’t even get coffee yet, babe.”
“It’s quick,” he says and pulls me again.
Conversation from everyone else continues behind us as we step outside barefoot, the cool wood of the porch shocking under my feet. The air smells like lake water and sunscreen and bacon grease drifting through the screen door.
It isn’t until we’re halfway to the dock that the thought hits me.
Is this it?
No. It can’t be. Macy would’ve told me. She promised she would. She said she’d straight-up ask him if he bought another ring.
And yet—
Mitch’s palm is sweaty in mine. His shoulders are tight. He keeps rolling his jaw like he’s bracing himself for something.
“Mitch,” I say, but no response. “Mitchell,” I try, but still nothing.
“Mitchell Brooks,” I warn, slowing my steps.
He glances back at me with a crooked grin. “Calliope Carter.”
I narrow my eyes. “What are we doing?”
He keeps walking—backwards now—that stupid boyish grin across his face looking back at me while he still holds my hand and pulls me along the dock. His other hand fumbles awkwardly at the pocket of his shorts, and that’s when I know. This is it.
The dock creaks beneath us. The lake is glassy and still, mist hovering just above the surface. The sun is barely up, painting the sky in soft pinks and golds that stretch through the trees.
We reach the very end, and he stops and turns toward me fully.
He just looks at me. Like he’s memorizing every feature.
“I know,” he says finally, voice low, careful, “that deep down you’ve been wrestling with whether I’m the right person for you. Whether we’re supposed to do this—get married, spend our lives together.”
My chest tightens.
“And I get why,” he continues. “We didn’t plan it this way. Nothing about the last year has been simple.” He shakes his head slightly. “But Callie…I’ve never once questioned how I feel about you.”
He takes a breath, and there’s a twinkle in his eye.
“Landon or not,” he says, eyes locked on mine, “I love you. I loved you before. I love you now. And I’d like to love you for the rest of my life, if you’ll let me.”
My throat closes, emotion rising too fast for me to stop it. He pulls his hand out of his pocket. It’s a black box, not the same blue one as last time.
“Calliope Elise Carter,” he says, dropping to one knee. “Will you marry me?”
For half a second, I swear the world stops.
Then I laugh through my tears. “Yes,” I say, breathless. “Of course I will.”
He stands in one swift motion and pulls me into his arms, kissing me like he hasn’t in years.
From the porch, our friends explode.
Shouting. Whistling. Brad yelling something incoherent about fireworks. Luke clapping so loud it echoes across the water.
Mitch presses his forehead to mine, smiling like he just won the lottery. His eyes are glassy, tears slipping free and tracking down his cheeks, and I don’t even try to wipe them away.
“I’m sorry I said no last year,” I cry, the words tumbling out of me.
He shakes his head immediately. “No,” he says firmly. “Don’t be sorry. Not for that. You needed time. I needed time. We weren’t ready.”
I wrap my arms around his neck tighter, pressing myself into him like I’m afraid he might disappear. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” he says, voice breaking just a little.
We kiss again, soft, real, everything we’ve worked our way back to, before turning and walking up toward the cabin, hand in hand.
Macy is the first to reach us. She presses Landon into Mitch’s arms. Everyone piles in after that—hugs, congratulations, tears, hands on my shoulders, someone slapping Mitch’s back hard enough to knock the breath out of him.
Even after everything we’ve already walked through together, it feels like God is still just getting started with us.