Chapter 19
Brielle Shaw?
It’s been almost six months since I basically met Desmond and somehow became his girl—his actual girl.
Not a guest, not the nanny, not the girl sleeping on his couch pretending it wasn’t permanent.
His partner. His person. The one he kisses goodnight and good morning and during nap time and whenever he walks by me in the kitchen like he physically can’t help himself.
Leon’s getting big now. Really big. He’s almost a year old, got two tiny teeth on the bottom that he shows off like they’re solid gold, and he’s standing.
Standing. Sometimes wobbling like a drunk grandpa.
Sometimes stomping like he thinks he’s already two.
And he’s almost walking—he does it with the little walker we bought him, but on his own?
Not yet. Which means everything in this apartment suddenly became a hazard.
So now we’re baby-proofing like our lives depend on it.
Desmond’s kneeling on the kitchen floor, installing one of those plastic cabinet locks I couldn’t figure out.
I’m on the couch with Leon bouncing on my lap like a firework that learned how to giggle.
He’s in a phase where every sound he makes is loud enough to summon angels or break glass—no in-between.
“Babe, did we buy the drawer locks?” Desmond calls, squinting at the screws like they personally offended him.
“Uhm…” I shift Leon to one hip while he tries to body-slam my cheek with his forehead. “I got a pack on sale, I think it’s in the storage cabinet.”
Desmond grunts in acknowledgment, getting to his feet.
His jeans are undone at the top because he kept bending down and “didn’t feel like buttoning them again.”
He’s shirtless, hair a mess from running his hands through it while cursing at the instruction manual, and every time he walks across the apartment like that I swear my heart forgets what its job is.
He really is the best relationship I’ve ever had.
And I’ve had handsome guys before, don’t get me wrong, but handsome and respectful?
Thoughtful and funny? Sexy without being cruel?
Soft without being weak? The kind of man who’ll kiss bruises he didn’t cause and carry laundry baskets like they’re weightless?
Not in a million years. Not in any life I ever imagined for myself.
Leon squeals at full volume, and Desmond pauses by the hallway cabinet, looking over his shoulder at us with that half-smirk he gets when he’s trying to hide how much he loves watching us.
“He’s loud today,” he says.
“Loud is his personality now,” I say, bouncing Leon a little. “He woke up and chose chaos.”
“That’s my boy,” Desmond mutters proudly.
“Don’t encourage him,” I warn.
“Why not? Someone’s gotta.” He opens the cabinet and starts rummaging. “This the one with the batteries and random crap?”
“That’s the official title, yes.”
He huffs a laugh. “Good. I’m in the right place.”
Leon squeals again—higher, louder, happier—and Desmond glances back at us, eyes softening in that way that still gets me every damn time.
“What’s he excited about now?” he asks.
I kiss Leon’s cheek. “Existing.”
“Same,” Desmond says dryly.
He finds the pack of drawer locks and holds them up triumphantly. “Ha. Knew I saw these.”
“You put them in that cabinet,” I remind him.
“Yeah,” he says, shrugging, “but I still wanna celebrate bein’ right.”
I smile at him—big, soft, helpless. “You want a prize?”
“Yeah, actually,” he says, dropping the locks on the counter. “Something kiss-shaped would do.”
Leon squeals again like he’s in full agreement.
I roll my eyes but I’m already standing, already crossing the room, already leaning in to give him what he asked for. Desmond leans down to meet me, hand slipping to my waist in that easy, instinctive way he does now.
He kisses me once.
Slow.
Warm.
A little smug.
And when he pulls back, he taps Leon’s forehead gently.
“And one for you too, little man.”
Leon kicks his legs like Desmond just gave him a puppy.
I look between the two of them—my two boys—and something huge and quiet fills my chest, something I didn’t know I was allowed to feel. Something warm and steady and almost too big to hold.
Desmond shifts the box of drawer locks in his hand and glances at me like he’s been thinking about something for a while now.
“You know,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck, “Leon’s birthday is coming up. Maybe we should do a little something.”
I pause, surprised but smiling. “Sure— I mean… one is a pretty great birthday.”
“Damn right it is,” he says, lips twitching. “Man only turns one once.”
I laugh softly. “That’s usually how it works, yeah.”
He steps closer, leaning against the counter, looking casual but also not. There’s that spark in his eyes—like he’s nervous-excited about something he hasn’t said yet.
“I was thinkin’…” He clears his throat. “We could call some of the guys I work with. Not a ton of people. Just the ones who actually know how to behave when children are present.”
I snort. “So… what? Two of them?”
He chuckles. “Three, if you count my foreman but only if his wife’s there to babysit him.”
I shake my head, grinning. “Okay, so a small get-together?”
“Yeah.” He nods, more certain now. “Justin’s got a little girl—you saw her once when he dropped me off? She’s, I don’t know… maybe three? Bit older. Might be nice for Leon to have a kid around who isn’t a stuffed dinosaur.”
I look down at Leon, who is currently gnawing on my sleeve with those two little teeth like a feral animal. “I mean… he’d probably love that.”
“Yeah?” Desmond asks, hopeful in a way that tugs at something deep.
“Yeah,” I say softer. “I think it’d be… really sweet, actually.”
He exhales like I just gave him permission to breathe. Then he leans a little closer, voice dropping to something warm and low.
“And we could decorate. Get those stupid little banners, maybe a cake shaped like a duck or some shit babies like.”
I raise an eyebrow. “A duck?”
“I don’t know what kids like!” he argues. “He likes… noises and things that move. Ducks move.”
“Ducks move,” I repeat, trying not to laugh. “Scientific observation, babe.”
He nudges my hip with his. “Don’t make fun of me. I’m trying.”
“I know,” I whisper, nudging him back. “And you’re cute when you try.”
His cheeks go a little pink—barely there, only noticeable because I’ve learned all the tiny ways he softens around me.
“So… we’ll do it?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, smiling up at him. “Let’s throw Leon a birthday party.”
“And invite my guys?” he checks again.
“Invite whoever you want,” I say, brushing my hand along his arm. “It’s his day. Our day.”
He looks at me then—really looks—and something warm floods his expression, something like gratitude and pride and a kind of love he hasn’t said out loud yet but keeps showing me in a hundred small ways.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “Yeah. Then it’s settled.”
Leon squeals like he agrees with the decision, flailing his tiny fists in approval.
Desmond laughs, leaning in to kiss his head—and then my shoulder—and god, I feel it again.
That quiet, huge, impossible thing.
The thing I didn’t know I was allowed to have.
Family.
----
Leon’s birthday comes around and somehow our tiny apartment looks like a prehistoric daycare exploded in it.
We went with a dinosaur theme—because Desmond insisted that “every kid likes dinos, it’s science”—and even though we didn’t buy much, the place feels bright and busy.
Green paper streamers hang like vines, there’s a cardboard T-rex by the door, and the table is covered in little plates with cartoon triceratops smiling at us like we did a real job.
It’s small. A little cramped. But it feels… right.
Three guys from Desmond’s crew came, plus one girl from my call center who actually likes me enough to hang out outside of work. And four kids total—two toddlers, a three-year-old, and one little boy Leon’s age.
So… chaos. Cute chaos. Loud chaos. But chaos.
Leon had a meltdown in the beginning because one of the boys grabbed his stuffed dinosaur—the green one Des calls “Sarge”—and Leon looked offended. Like someone stole the crown jewels.
He yanked it back, the other toddler yanked harder, and suddenly there was shrieking on both ends.
Desmond intervened, leaning down between them like he was defusing a bomb.
“Alright, alright—hey, little man,” he said to Leon, gently prying the toy from both sticky hands. “We do sharing today, remember? Birthdays are a sharing day.”
Leon screamed louder, which translated clearly to absolutely not.
The other boy started crying too. Then his older sister stepped in.
“Mom says boys cry when they’re overwhelmed,” she announced, hands on her hips.
Desmond blinked. “Yeah, well… boys cry for lots of reasons.”
“Mom says you’re supposed to validate feelings,” she continued.
“Oh,” he muttered. “Right. Feelings. Okay.”
I stepped in before Desmond lost the emotional battle to a stern three-year-old.
“Leon,” I murmured, kneeling in front of him, smoothing his curls, “we can take turns, okay? You can hold it for one minute, then your friend gets a turn. That’s fair, right?”
He sniffled, lip wobbling, but nodded.
The other boy nodded too.
And just like that, the crisis ended.
Desmond blew out a quiet breath and shot me a look like how do you do that?
I shrugged.
“Girls mature faster,” I teased.
“That’s sexist,” he muttered under his breath.
“No,” I said, grinning, “that’s science.”
He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling too.
The rest of the party settles into this sweet, warm background noise. Kids running around. Adults talking. Everything a little messy, a little loud, but full.
One of Desmond’s coworkers—Justin—hands Leon a bright-yellow toy truck, and Leon gasps like he’s just seen a miracle.
“He loves it,” I say.
Justin nods proudly. “All kids love trucks.”
Desmond snorts. “Thought all kids liked dinosaurs. Science, right?”
I elbow him.
My friend from the call center, Mia, wanders over with a paper cup of juice. “So,” she says, glancing at Desmond talking to Leon, “that’s the guy?”
“That’s the guy,” I say quietly.
She raises her brows. “Girl. You didn’t mention he was built like that.”
I turn red instantly. “Mia.”
“What? I’m just saying, if he ever needs a backup—”
“He does not.”
“—I’m available.”
I laugh harder than I should, and she nudges my shoulder.
“You look happy,” she says.
I look over at Leon trying to show off his new truck. At Desmond kneeling to clap for him, pride spilling out of him like sunlight. At the little cluster of kids giggling on the rug. At the uneven streamers. The tiny apartment that feels bigger today. The life I somehow stumbled into.
“Yeah,” I say, soft and honest. “I am.”
Right then Leon toddles his wobbly little steps toward Desmond, chanting, “Da-da! Da-da! Da-da!” like a rallying cry.
Every adult in the room goes quiet.
Desmond freezes.
My heart jumps into my throat.
Leon slams into his legs, hugs his knee, looks up at him like he hung the moon.
And Desmond—tough, steady, big, rough-around-the-edges Desmond—goes soft in a way that nearly breaks me.
He crouches slowly, cupping the back of Leon’s head.
“Yeah, buddy,” he murmurs. “I’m right here.”
My eyes sting.
Not sad.
Not scared.
Just… full.
Mia whispers beside me, “Girl. You are so screwed.”
I laugh under my breath, wiping at the corner of my eye. “Yeah,” I whisper. “I know.”
And for once in my life?
Being screwed has never felt so good.