“Me too,” he said, capturing my lips in a quick, searing kiss that ended way too soon. I must’ve made a noise of protest, because he chuckled and said, “Don’t worry, honey. There’s more where that came from. Later. When we’re alone.”
“My three favorite words.”
“Is it time to eat yet?” Hansen asked, squeezing between my and Ezra’s legs, his little face scrunched in distress. “I’m starving.”
With a chuckle, I stepped away from his father.
Ezra only rolled his eyes and settled a hand on Hansen’s shoulder, turning him toward the entrance to the kitchen.
“Go round everyone up, kiddo,” he said. “Pizza is coming out now.”
“Yes!” Hansen cheered, pumping his fist in the air and racing from the room, careening around the corner so fast, I gasped, thinking he’d slip and slide right into the opposite wall. Thankfully, he remained on his feet and disappeared deeper into the house, chanting that it was pizza time. The group followed him out, laughing at his exuberance.
As Ezra began removing the pizzas from the oven, I picked up one of his homemade garlic knots and shoved it in my mouth, desperate to quell the hunger pains. Like Hansen, I, too, was starving, the scents of tomato and melty cheese mingling in the air, creating an enticing aroma and driving me insane while I waited for Ezra to finish.
“Hey, honey?” he asked, and I focused my attention on him instead of the pies on the counter.
“Yeah?”
“Will you bring those out to the dining room before you eatthem all?” he asked, gesturing to the garlic knots.
I stuck my tongue out but did as he asked, his murmured “brat” following me out.
My family had gathered at the table around Hansen, who sat at the head—in the seat typically reserved for my dad—a fork in one hand, butter knife in the other, napkin tucked into the collar of his shirt like a bib.
“Someone is excited for pizza,” I said, ruffling his hair after setting the garlic bread down.
“It’s my absolute favorite,” Hansen reminded me.
“I know,” I told him. “Hey, remember the first time we met? When you, your dad, and I ate grilled cheese together at the winery?”
Hansen’s eyes squeezed shut, face scrunched up in thought. “Not really,” he said, glancing at me. “I feel like I’ve always known you. You’ve always just been part of our family.”
A chorus ofawws rose from my sisters and mom, and tears pricked my eyes.
This kid. I’d never understand what I did to not only find a love like what I had with Ezra, but to get Hansen out of the deal as well. He was truly the best kid I could’ve imagined. Smart, curious, funny, a total goofball—he kept everyone on their toes with the stuff that came out of his mouth. But he also had the biggest heart out of anyone I knew, which was saying something, given he was barely six years old. It was heartening to see that, despite what he’d gone through as a toddler and having to grow up without a mother, he’d still turned into the sweetest boy who hadn’t let that deter him in the slightest from finding joy in every day.
In short, I loved Hansen.
But he wasn’tmine, and I hated that small part of my brain that refused to shut up about it, the one that liked to remind me I could’ve had my own baby and lost it.
The one begging me to take another shot.
As Ezra appeared in the doorway with the first of the pizzas, I realized with a start that we hadn’t discussed that. We hadn’t discussed much about the future beyond wanting to face it together. I needed to tell him.
Soon.
Tonight.
I gave him a broad smile as he slid the pie to the center of the table, hoping it masked the worst of my anxiety. I opened my mouth to thank him, my family rising from their seats to reach for slices.
Mom had just laid one on Hansen’s plate when Chloe appeared behind Ezra, face pale.
“Coco?” I asked, rushing to her side. “Are you okay?”
“Uhh…Logan?” she said to her husband, ignoring me.
“Yeah, babe?” Logan asked, not lifting his eyes from the food in front of him.
