Chapter 27 Finn
Finn
DON’T YOU WANT ME BABY BY THE HUMAN LEAGUE
The backyard is buzzing in that effortless, golden-hour way only Wisteria Cove knows how to do when we throw a BBQ.
Remy set up cornhole and other games, kids are chasing each other through the trees, and the whole place smells like charcoal, pine trees, and the half a dozen side dishes that are enough to feed an army.
It’s one of those unofficial Maren-Bennett gatherings with half the town drifting in with coolers under their arms, someone started playing music on a speaker, and now nobody remembers whose idea the BBQ actually was.
That’s when Remy wanders over, beer in hand, eyebrows raised at the smoke curling up from the grill.
“You’d better flip the brats before they burn like your love life,” Remy says, laughing as he takes a pull from his bottle.
I flip one half-heartedly. “My love life is thriving, thank you very much.”
“Uh-huh,” he says, peering at the grill. “That brat looks like it’s been through it.”
I roll my eyes and shove him with my elbow. “You’re welcome to take over anytime, Grill Master of the Year.”
“Please,” he says. “I’ve been feeding people since before you figured out what seasoning was.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, “and Ivy still re-seasons everything when you’re not looking.”
Remy grins. “That’s just life. These Maren women run things. We just go with it.”
“You're not wrong,” I say, laughing, as I flip the brats.
“When are you taking your cat home?” he asks, pretending as if he’s not as interested as I know he is. He and Allen bonded and now the cat loves it out here in the workshop mousing. I plan on bringing him back to the house when it’s completely done.
“Soon. Just getting the paint done at the house. Almost there.”
Things are better with Rowan and me. Remy is usually right about things.
He said something last week about how relationships are worth it when you can weather through the hard stuff.
And there’s always going to be hard stuff.
And there’s no one I want to do life with, besides Rowan.
Including the hard stuff. Having her through the hard stuff, makes life worth it.
Smoke drifts up from the grill, rich with the scent of hickory and summer. The picnic tables overflow with platters of cheeseburgers, foil covered hot dogs, big bowls of macaroni salad, baked beans, buttery corn on the cob, and Lilith’s famous peach cobbler cooling at the end like a prize.
Willa’s laughing at something Tate said, Ivy’s chasing Junie who’s running around with a bucket of water balloons, and Rowan’s sitting cross-legged on a picnic bench, her hair a mess of curls. She's relaxed and beautiful. She smiles at me and waves.
Remy passes me a plate. “Eat before I catch you stealing bites from the grill again.”
“It’s called quality control checks,” I mumble, mouth already full.
He chuckles. “Pretty sure quality control doesn’t require third-degree burns.”
I grin, cheeks full. “Worth it. These are really good.”
Laughter ripples through the table, the kind that hums low and easy, like summer itself decided to sit down and join us.
Then I catch the tail end of a conversation happening over by the girls.
Ivy’s face is pink, and she’s biting her lip like she’s about to drop a secret. “So, we’ve been talking about maybe… trying for a baby. I want Junie to have brothers and sisters to grow up with.”
Willa gasps, nearly spilling her drink. “Shut up. Us too!”
Tate groans, rubbing his temples. “Do I need another beer before this conversation starts?”
Willa ignores him. “Wouldn’t it be so fun if we all got pregnant around the same time? We could raise the kids together. Our babies could all grow up as friends.”
Ivy laughs. “Junie definitely needs more kids to play with.”
Rowan chokes on her sweet tea, coughing into her napkin. “I'm not joining the baby cult.”
Willa leans in, grinning. “Why not?”
Rowan waves her hands dramatically, tea sloshing over the rim of her cup. “Because I’m not even convinced I like babies!”
They burst out laughing, and I bite back a nervous smile, watching her from across the picnic table. Her voice has that anxious edge to it when she’s trying to make light of something that scares her.
Ivy looks at her and scoffs. “You love Junie!”
“Junie’s six,” Rowan says, pointing for emphasis. “She’s self-sufficient and hilarious. Babies just poop, drool, and scream. I’d probably mess it up somehow.”
Everyone’s laughing, but my chest goes tight. If Rowan doesn’t want kids, I’ll find a way to be okay with that. I love her so much, whether we just have a cat, or kids, I just want her.
She’s smiling, but there’s something behind it that hits me right in the ribs. The way she looks down after she says it, like she believes she wouldn’t be good enough.
I take a sip of my beer and… watch her. The way she leans into Willa’s shoulder, laughing again, her eyes bright.
She doesn’t see how kind she is, how much she already takes care of everyone around her. She doesn’t know she’s already got that thing moms have, that soft center that makes people feel safe. And no one is more fiercely protective than Rowan.
If there ever was a kid lucky enough to have her as a mom, it’d win the lottery the second it showed up.
Ivy gasps, half laughing, half scandalized. “Rowan! You'd be a kick ass mom! Like nobody would mess with your kids. You’d be full momma bear mode.”
Rowan shrugs, fighting a smile. “I mean, I love Junie. What if I get a bad one? Like, a baby who screams every night and hates me?”
Willa laughs so hard she nearly falls off the bench. “There's no way that would happen.”
“Hey, I’m just being realistic,” Rowan says, trying not to laugh and failing.
Ivy grabs Junie in a hug. “You’d be an amazing mom. The witchy, herb-tea, garden goddess mom. That kid would be so chill.”
Rowan snorts. “Yeah, until it starts hexing people at daycare. If we all have kids, you know they're going to be trouble, just like we were.”
Everyone bursts out laughing. I’m laughing too, until something clicks in the back of my mind.
She’s been tired lately. Sick, even. Falling asleep on the couch after dinner. She swore she had the flu, but it lasted weeks.
And then I realize… I can’t remember the last time she mentioned her period.
My stomach drops so fast I swear I feel it hit the damn lawn, and heat rushes straight to my face.
No way. No fucking way.
I glance at her again. Rowan, laughing with her sisters, sunlight tangled in her hair, a smudge of barbecue sauce on her tank top she doesn’t even know is there. She looks alive and soft and full of this bright joy that always hits me in the chest like a freight train.
And suddenly I can’t breathe. Because I know something she doesn’t know yet. And the more I think about it, the more certain I am.
“Hey,” Remy says, frowning. “You okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
“I’m fine,” I say too fast, grabbing my beer like it can anchor me.
He narrows his eyes. “You sure? You’re pale. Like ‘saw a pregnancy test’ pale.”
I choke on my drink. “What’d you just say?”
He barks out a laugh. “I’m kidding, man. Relax. All this pregnancy talk has you crashing out.”
But the joke hits too close. Because now my brain won’t stop spinning. A baby? With her?
Fear hits first. I’m not ready. I don’t know how to be a dad. What if I screw it up? What if I become the man I swore I’d never be? My own biological father who was nothing to us.
But right on the heels of that fear… something else crashes into me. Something that feels a lot like hope.
Because for half a second, my mind paints a picture I wasn’t prepared for: Rowan in our kitchen, barefoot, laughing as she leans against my shoulder. A tiny hand wrapped around her finger. Life, loud and chaotic and good.
I don’t hate the thought at all. My chest tightens, but not in panic this time. More like awe. Like my heart just expanded too fast and doesn’t know what to do with all the new space.
I look at the woman who tore down my walls without even trying and the fear and hope collide so hard I feel dizzy.
Because if she is…
If there’s even a chance…
Then everything changes.
In the best, scariest, most impossible way.
That night, after the barbecue, I drop her off at the house so she can check on her plants and water them. I tell her I have to run a few errands and head for the drugstore on the edge of town. My hands grip the wheel so tight they ache.
I can’t stop thinking about her laughing under the lights, teasing her sisters, saying she doesn’t know if she’d even like babies.
God. What if she’s really pregnant?
The thought hits me again, harder this time, and my stomach twists. The house isn’t ready. The wiring’s half finished. There’s drywall dust everywhere and the kitchen isn't even done. I wanted it perfect for her. For us.
I pull into the drugstore parking lot and sit there for a full minute. Then I mutter, “Get it together,” and go inside.
The teenage cashier looks at me like I’m buying explosives when I grab the box. I toss in a pack of gum for good measure. Totally normal, nothing to see here. Mind your business, nosy kid.
On the drive back, I can’t stop running through every possibility.
What if she’s not? She's going to be pissed for me worrying her like this if she isn't. What if she is? And what if she doesn’t want it?
The feeling hits me in the stomach like a hard punch.
Because I want that baby more than anything if she is pregnant.
I love kids. I've always been close to Junie.
My brother was a single dad for almost five years, and I stepped up a lot during that time to help him.