Chapter 26
Megan
It’s been a week since the fight about IVF.
One week of careful conversations and forced normalcy. We haven’t brought it up again. Not because we resolved anything, but because neither of us knows how to without it turning into another argument.
Mason goes to work. I go to school. We come home and talk about safe things: what’s for dinner, whether we need to run to the store, what to watch on TV. We’re functioning and we’re okay.
But there’s a heaviness between us that wasn’t there before. An unspoken awareness that we’re not on the same page about something that matters. A lot.
Still, when I hear his truck pull into the driveway earlier than expected today, I let myself smile. Because today’s my birthday, and maybe, just for today, we can set the weight aside and just be us again.
I glance out the window above the sink, smiling before I can stop it. Through the windshield I see the silhouette of flowers.
The engine cuts, and the driver’s door opens. Mason steps out, still in uniform, vest on, sleeves rolled up. In one hand, a small bouquet of wildflowers. In the other, a white box with the bakery’s logo stamped across the top.
I wipe my hands on a towel and go to the door to greet him. The screen creaks open, and his eyes find mine instantly, that boyish grin spreading slowly across his face, the one that still makes my stomach flip.
“Happy birthday,” he says softly, leaning down to press a kiss to my lips.
I melt right into him, the smell of Pepsi and a hoagie of some kind clinging to his uniform. “You weren’t supposed to get me anything,” I murmur.
“Yeah, well,” he says with a shrug, “guess I’m a bad listener.” He hands me the flowers first, then the box. “Your favorite.”
“You’re too sweet.”
“I called last week, placed the order.” He steps past me into the kitchen, unbuttoning his vest as he talks. “Every time I stopped by in the past they were almost out of them.”
I look down at the box, my heart swelling at the small details—him remembering, him caring enough to call ahead.
“Thank you,” I whisper, stepping closer.
He looks down at me with that soft, steady gaze that always undoes me. “You deserve more than flowers and cupcakes, but I—”
“This is perfect.”
He wraps his arms around me, kissing me softly.
“And if cupcakes don’t earn me Husband of the Year, I’ve got backup plans.” He grins, kissing me again, slower this time.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I’m not opposed to seeing those.”
Mason pulls back just enough to look at me, his hands still firm at my hips.
“Yeah?” he adds casually, like he didn’t just kiss the breath out of me. “You should probably pack a bag.”
I blink. “A bag?”
His mouth twitches like he’s trying not to give something away. “Overnight. Two days, maybe.”
I stare at him, my brain lagging behind my heart. “Mason…what are you talking about?”
He reaches past me, grabs the cupcakes off the counter, and sets them safely out of the way before leaning back in, lowering his voice like he’s sharing a secret.
“I booked us a hotel for the weekend.”
My breath catches. “You…what?”
“Fancy one,” he says, nodding like this is no big deal. “About two hours away. Room service. Big tub. Pool. No schedules. No alarms. Just you and me.”
I laugh softly, shaking my head. “You didn’t.”
“I did.” His thumb brushes slow circles into my hip. “It’s your birthday. And I know things have been heavy lately.”
That word lands right in my chest.
Heavy.
“I wanted to give you something to look forward to,” he continues, quieter now. “A couple days where you don’t have to be strong or hopeful or patient. Where you don’t have to think about school or timing or—” He stops himself, swallows. “Anything.”
My eyes burn before I can stop it.
“Mason…” My voice wobbles. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to,” he says simply. “I want you. That’s the whole point.”
I press my forehead to his chest, breathing him in, grounding myself in the steady beat of his heart.
“When do we leave?” I ask, my voice muffled.
He smiles into my hair. “Thursday after work. You’re gonna have to take the day Friday.”
I laugh and pull back just enough to look up at him. “You planned this whole thing without telling me?”
“Been sitting on it for weeks,” he admits. “Hardest secret I’ve ever kept.”
I laugh, wiping at my eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “But you married me anyway.”
I smile then, real and full, and loop my arms around his neck.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He kisses my temple, slow and lingering. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”
His hands tighten on my hips firmly, like he’s not messing around.
Before I can take another breath, he backs me up until my lower back bumps the counter.
His mouth is on mine, urgent and hungry, kissing me like the cupcakes were just an excuse to get here, and the way he hums against my lips…yeah, that’ll win him Husband of the Year. No contest.