Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
My throat swells. I adjust my hand on the steering wheel, resisting the urge to honk at a guy who hits the gas through a yellow light instead of stopping. “I mean, I did impregnate you not once but twice in one night.”
This time, she full out laughs. “That’s not how it works.”
“Still gotta give my sperm some credit.”
“It did its job.”
On cue, our daughter lets out a wail.
“Aw, honey, we’ll be home soon,” I say, looking up into the rearview mirror again.
Wheeler has her hands inside the baby’s car seat, a sated smile on her face. “You’re cute when you coo.”
“You talking to me?”
“Pretty sure our babies can’t coo yet.”
“Isn’t ‘coo’ kind of a weird word?”
“When you say it this much, yes.” Wheeler’s laughing, and I’m hit by a surge of deep, almost painful gratitude.
This woman brought two babies earthside earlier this week after a difficult pregnancy. We’ve been through some shit—how unexpected this all was, her family’s disapproval—but we’ve still managed to laugh together through it all.
Wheeler was right. We really are friends. Best friends. And turns out doing life with your best friend by your side provides exactly the kind of freedom I’ve been looking for. This is life on my terms. Our terms. I’m able to be who I am and do what feels right because Wheeler and I value the same things.
Our relationship isn’t perfect. We had a messy start. And I imagine life’s about to get messy in a whole new way with two babies in the house. We’ve talked plenty about where we’re going to take the kids as they get older—the beach, Aspen, California—but it’s going to be a while before we travel again.
It will happen, though. And once we get over the hump of the babies being too tiny or difficult to go places, we’re going to have travel buddies for the rest of our lives.
I’m going to have Wheeler as the best travel buddy ever too. The connection we have is real and honest, and that makes me think we can find our way through any mess as long as we have each other.
We decided that we wanted to get settled at the cottage before everyone came over to see the babies, so I’m not surprised to see that the driveway is empty when I pull up a few minutes later.
I am surprised, however, to see a pair of signs shaped like storks in our front yard. One is blue and printed with our son’s name. The other is pink and printed with our daughter’s. A bunch of balloons in pink and blue are tied to the porch, and there’s a big bow taped to our front door.
“Aw,” Wheeler says thickly. “How cute is that? Had to be Mollie, right?”
I groan, even as my eyes smart. “And Cash. And Sally and Wyatt, come to think of it. And you gotta know Sawyer and Ava and the girls had a hand in the balloons and bow.”
“I love it.”
“I love you.” I cut the ignition. “Ready to start life as a family of four?”
In the mirror, I see Wheeler nod, a huge smile splitting her face. “I’m ready.”
Jumping out of the truck, I’m careful to close the door quietly behind me. I’ve been practicing taking the car seats in and out of the truck for weeks now, just in case Wheeler went into labor early, so I make quick work of lifting our son’s car seat out of the back. I hold out my hand to Wheeler, and she gingerly climbs out of the truck.
“Almost time for another dose of ibuprofen.” I give her hand a squeeze.
“You’re sexy when you stay on top of my meds.”
“But sexier when I’m on top of you, right?”
She shakes her head, but she’s still smiling. “I just had your babies. Two of them. Can you give me a minute to recover?”
“Take all the time you need, Blue. Just know I think you’re beautiful.”
Wheeler looks up and holds my gaze. In the thin winter light, her eyes shimmer with something I can only describe as joy. “Even when I look like, well, this?” She motions to her disheveled hair and rumpled pajamas.
Leaning in, I press a tender kiss to her mouth. “Especially when you look like this. You’re a miracle worker. Literally. Now let’s get you comfortable inside, yeah?”
I carry both car seats into the house. A scent hits me—something pretty, fresh. Wheeler is ahead of me, and she draws up short with a gasp.
My stomach plunges into a bucket of ice. “You okay?”
“Duke.” She points to the family room. “Look.”
Turning my head, I see several bouquets of flowers are set out on the mantel, the coffee table, and the console behind the sofa. Each bouquet is topped with a card.
I don’t need to open those cards to know who sent the flowers. It was everyone in Hartsville.