Chapter 8
Megan
I’ve been standing in Mason’s kitchen for twenty minutes, trying to remember how much flour you’re supposed to use for a breakfast cake.
I can’t find the recipe and my mom’s not answering my texts.
I scoop a few spoonfuls of flour into the bowl, eyeball the sugar, baking powder, few hits of cinnamon, drizzle in some vanilla until it looks right, and start stirring. It’s…thicker than I expected.
I’m debating whether it’s milk or oil that I need to add when I hear the screen door creak and Mason’s boots against the hardwood.
“Hey,” he says softly, voice warm. “Smells good in here.”
“Thanks,” I say, stirring a little too fast. “I’m making something for Cody and Karissa. You know, since they just got home with the baby.”
Gage Maverick was born yesterday. They’re coming home this afternoon and told us to stop by to meet him tonight rather than at the hospital. I’ve been thinking all morning that it would be nice to take something—not just a little gift for the baby and Emma, but something for Cody and Karissa too.
“That’s sweet of you, Meg.” He walks up behind me, sliding his hands around my waist. I feel his chin dip to rest on my shoulder as he looks into the bowl. “What are you making?”
“Breakfast cake.”
“Mm. Looks like it’s gonna be a good one.” His tone is calm, steady, but I can feel him scanning the mess around me. “I got everything you need?”
“Pretty much.” I reach for the carton of eggs, crack one in, and smile when it actually goes well. I pause, glancing at the counter. “Can you grab me the oil? I think that’s what I need.”
He hesitates for a second before grabbing it.
“What?” I ask.
“Just confused about what you mean by you think.”
I blink at him, whisk paused midair. “What? Why are you confused?”
He lifts his hands in surrender, a soft grin on his face. “Nothing bad. Just…usually when you bake, you follow a recipe.”
“I am following a recipe,” I argue.
“Where?”
“Well, I don’t have it physically, but I have it somewhat in my head.”
“Somewhat is another word for guessing,” he suggests gently.
“Not necessarily. I mean, what did people do before Pinterest? Just dumped and poured and hoped for the best.”
“No, baby, they wrote it down.”
I glare at him and throw a crumpled paper towel at his head. “Have some faith in me, Mason. I just cooked with your mom and Addie yesterday. I’m not stupid.”
“I’m not saying you’re stupid. I’m just worried about sending the new parents back to the hospital because of food poisoning or something.”
I take a deep breath because I know Mason means well, and if this is something he’s concerned with, as his soon-to-be wife I need to acknowledge that and not be so defensive.
I look down at the bowl—lumpy, confused, and honestly kind of gross-looking. “You think it’s that bad?”
“I think it just needs a little…teamwork.” He comes around the counter and touches my back, then he pulls out his phone.
While I wait for him to find an actual recipe, I clean up the mess I already made so we can start fresh.
Mason takes control of the kitchen, pulling out ingredients I didn’t already have out—along with measuring utensils I forgot about—and I just watch him mix everything together like he’s a head chef of his own cooking show.
He moves around me like he’s done this a hundred times—quiet, steady, asking me to do things so I can help, and never making me feel silly.
I scrape the batter into the pan, smoothing the top. “Okay. This might actually turn out.”
“It will,” Mason says, reaching for my waist again. “Because we followed a recipe, baby.” He pats my side and I push my butt against him.
“You giving me a hard time?”
“Nope.” He laughs. “Just being honest.”
I shake my head, smiling despite myself.
The oven beeps to signify it has preheated. I slide the pan in and close the door gently. Mason’s hands find my waist again, this time bringing us face-to-face.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Of course.” His lips touch mine, slow and deliberate.
The kiss slowly builds, lazy but intense, the kind that makes time blur and thoughts scatter. His fingers slip under the hem of my shirt, just resting on my skin—warm, reassuring, reverent.
I break the kiss for air, leaning my forehead against his. His breathing matches mine, soft but unsteady.
“We’re supposed to be baking,” I whisper.
He gives the smallest smirk. “Cake’s in the oven. We’ve got time.”
I laugh softly, brushing my nose against his. “Mason…”
He kisses me again, gentle but sure. “I love you…” he murmurs. “Soon-to-be Mrs. Jennings.”
“Yeah, I know, but I’m afraid if we don’t stop, you’ll make me Mrs. Jennings right here in this kitchen.”
He smirks, thumb brushing my jaw. “Trust me, sweetheart…if we weren’t waiting, you wouldn’t still be standing in front of me right now.”
* * *
When we pull into Cody and Karissa’s driveway, the curtains in the front window are cracked just enough for light to spill out onto the porch.
Cody opens the door before we can even knock.
He looks tired but he’s smiling.
“How ya doin’, Dad?” Mason teases, giving his shoulder a pat.
Cody shakes his head, “Still running on adrenaline, I think.” He pulls Mason in for a hug, then me. His voice drops to a whisper. “Wash your hands first.”
“Of course,” I nod, already stepping toward the sink.
“Oh. This is for you guys.” I hand him the breakfast cake.
Cody lifts the foil, sniffs, then looks between the two of us. “Did you make it?” he asks me cautiously.
Heat crawls up my neck, but I don’t know why. “Yeah. I mean…Mason helped.”
Cody and Mason exchange a look, one of those silent male conversations, and Cody nods slowly. “Alright…well, thanks,” he says, and sets it on the counter.
Mason and I wash our hands, and then we hear Emma’s little footsteps patter across the floor. She stops right in front of me, breathless and beaming.
“Mommy baby!” she squeals.
I crouch down to her level. “Mommy had baby Gage?” I ask gently.
She nods hard and grabs my hand with determination, pulling me toward the living room. Mason follows with Cody, both of them talking about something—half work, half brotherly nonsense.
Karissa’s on the couch, propped up with pillows. Her hair is curled, soft makeup on, cozy clothes. She looks like a mom—radiant in that brand-new way.
“Hey!” she says, shifting upright.
My eyes drop to the tiny bundle in her arms and my breath catches. “He’s so little,” I whisper. “And you look amazing.”
Karissa laughs, tired but warm. “Thanks. He’s a peanut. But I’m feeling good. Way better than with Emma.”
I sit beside her, close but gentle, because she looks fragile post-birth.
“You can hold him,” she tells me, already shifting the blanket. “He just ate. He’ll be out for a bit.”
I hesitate, not sure what to do with my hands, but she places him into my arms like she’s handing me something sacred.
He’s so light…but somehow the heaviest thing I’ve ever held.
He’s all swaddled, tiny fingers curled under his chin, his lips puckering like he’s dreaming about eating again.
Karissa tucks her legs up and leans back. “Delivery was good, thank the Lord. No complications this time.”
“Better than Emma,” Cody cuts in from across the room. “Considering she didn’t hemorrhage this time.”
Karissa smiles. “Yeah. I didn’t need a C-section either, so it felt like a completely different world.”
“That’s amazing,” I tell her softly. “I’m…really happy for you.”
Emma toddles over, eyes wide like she’s seeing her baby brother for the first time all over again. She reaches toward his face—fast.
“Cody!” Karissa calls, already half sitting up.
I react too, pulling Gage’s blanket gently up over his face just as Cody swoops in and catches Emma’s wrist.
“No, no,” he warns softly. “Gentle, remember?”
Emma pouts but nods, her little fingers curling in a slow petting motion right on her mom’s knee instead.
Karissa leans back into the couch, looking at Emma. “You have to be careful, and nice.”
Emma gets shy and walks away to Cody, who picks her up. She lays against his shoulder like he just saved the day.
I smile and shift Gage higher in my arms. “He’s perfect.”
Because he is. Tiny. Warm. Sleeping like the world outside doesn’t exist yet.
And for one quiet moment, I let myself imagine—just for a heartbeat—what it would be like if this were me and Mason. But it’s only a moment.
But when Mason glances at me from across the room, I can see it in his face. He’s imagining it too.
* * *
The drive to Mason’s home is barely thirty seconds, but it feels like the air in the truck shifts the moment we pull out of Cody’s driveway.
I lean my head against the seat and let out a sigh, one that I feel like I’ve been holding in all night.
“He was so cute,” I say quietly.
“He was,” Mason agrees, his voice warm, hopeful. “Hopefully we’re next.”
I smile, soft and sad at the same time. “I hope. I might die of jealousy if Addison beats us to it.”
He laughs under his breath, shaking his head. “Yeah, well…we’ll see.”
We pull into his driveway, gravel crunching under the tires. Mason puts the truck in park but doesn’t get out yet.
“His name is cool,” Mason says.
I give him a look of disagreement.
“You don’t like it?”
“It’s too bold,” I admit. “It’s cool, yeah, but…just not my thing.”
“Okay.” He grins, elbow resting on the console. “So, what would you name your son?”
Immediately, I reach for my phone. “I’ve been prepared for this question since I was fourteen,” I announce. “Except being a teacher means I’ve had to cross off half the world.”
Mason laughs. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Micah Brooks,” I say, loud and proud.
“I’m down. That’s good.”
I whip my head toward him. “Really?”
“Yeah. I feel like you don’t hear that biblical name a lot. It’s always Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.”
“Oh, well,” I deadpan, “we could do Methuselah.”
“Yeah, maybe he’d live nine hundred years.”
I laugh—really laugh—and it loosens something tight in my chest.
“What about a girl?” I ask next.
“You first.”
My grin grows, mischievous. “You’re not gonna like it.”
His eyebrows raise. “What? Why not? Tell me.”
“Eliana or Naomi.”
“Oh, I like them.”
I blink. “Really?!”
“Yeah. I thought you were gonna say something super weird or something.”
“Ha. No.” I laugh. “What’s your name?”
He shrugs. “I don’t really know. I just always liked the name Grace. I know it’s sorta common.”
“No, that’s cute though.” I chew on the inside of my cheek. “We could do Naomi Grace.”
“Yeah”—he nods slowly—“that’s perfect. All we need to do now is make her.”
I laugh again…but this time it dips into something a little fragile in my chest.
“Or him,” he adds quickly. “I certainly don’t care.”
I soften, turning toward him, taking in the face I’ll come home to every day in just a few weeks now. “And that is why I love you,” I murmur.
He smiles, leaning over to kiss me—slow, warm, steady. A promise without saying any words at all.
When we finally step out of the truck, the night is cool and quiet, the stars stretched across the sky. Mason grabs my hand as we walk toward the house, his thumb brushing my skin in a comforting rhythm.