"Better than I imagined," I admit, leaning into him.
He leans down and kisses my head. "And just think—one day maybe we'll have one more for dinner."
My heart skips a beat as I look up at him, wondering if he's somehow guessed my secret. But his expression is relaxed, unknowing. He's just talking about the future in general terms, not realizing how soon that future will arrive.
"Yes," I say, resisting my instinct to touch my pregnant tummy. "One more for dinner."
The table is completely covered in our feast and it looks beautiful. Candles flicker, casting a warm glow over the faces of our guests as they settle in, napkins unfurled across laps, wine glasses filled. Tyler sits between Jessica and me, practically vibrating with excitement in his special booster seat, his plate already loaded with the tiny portions of food he approved we serve him provided that none of them touch each other.
Logan stands at the head of the table, crystal champagne flute in hand. The conversations quiet, faces turn toward him expectantly. In this moment, he looks every bit the NHL captain—confident, commanding attention without demanding it. So sexy.
"Before we dig in," Logan begins, his voice warm and steady, "I want to thank everyone for being here. A year ago..." He pauses, his eyes finding mine across the table. "A year ago, things looked very different for me. For us."
Murmurs of agreement ripple around the table. Everyone here knows some version of our story—the custody battle, our separation, the painful reconciliation we had to navigate.
"Today, I'm thankful for second chances," Logan continues. "For a son who teaches me something new every day." He nods toward Tyler, who beams with pride. "For our teammate family." Kovy raises his glass in acknowledgment. "For a beautiful, brilliant wife who loves all of me, even the difficult parts."
My cheeks warm as he looks at me, a familiar warmth in my lower belly that has nothing to do with morning sickness.
"And I'm thankful for new beginnings." Logan lifts his glass higher. "To family—both the one you're born with and the one you choose."
Natasha glances pointedly at my untouched glass, one eyebrow raised in silent question. I smile mysteriously and reach for my water instead, a decision that doesn't go unnoticed by Jessica.
"To family," everyone echoes, glasses raised.
"I’m thankful for my Mommies and my Daddy!" Tyler announces loudly before anyone can drink, standing precariously on his booster seat, arms flung wide.
Laughter ripples around the table. Jessica reaches over to steady Tyler, her smile genuine as she shares a look with me.
Logan's grin widens. "Well said, T-Rex," he agrees, raising his glass higher. "Here's to all the mommies!" His gaze sweeps from Jessica to me, and I’m so filled with love I might burst.
The meal unfolds in easy conversation and laughter. Tyler quizzes Marcus about dinosaur trivia between bites. Kovy and Nate debate playoff odds for the bubble teams. Sully tells a story about Logan during his rookie year that makes me laugh until my sides hurt.
After dinner, we migrate to the living room, bodies heavy with food and contentment. Logan builds a fire in the fireplace while Benny's 13-month old daughter toddles between couches, giggling as she moves.
I slip away to our bedroom, heart pounding as I retrieve the small gift box from its hiding place in my drawer. It’s holding a tiny Chicago Blades jersey with "Baby McCoy" lettering on the back.
When I return to the living room, the conversation has turned to holiday plans. I catch Logan's eye across the room and nod slightly. Curiosity flickers across his face as he excuses himself from his conversation with Kovy and makes his way to my side.
"Everything okay?" he asks quietly, warm palm finding the small of my back.
"Perfect," I assure him, then raise my voice slightly. "Actually, I have a little something for Logan. An early Christmas gift."
The room quiets, all eyes turning our way. Elena practically vibrates with suppressed excitement, and I realize she's had as much trouble keeping this secret as I have.
"For me?" Logan asks, looking surprised.
"For all of us, really," I say, "But you get to open it."
He takes it with a curious smile, fingers working carefully to remove the paper without tearing it—a habit that still surprises me because I’m a “rip it open” kind of girl.
He glances at me once more before opening it, revealing the tiny jersey nestled inside. For a moment, he looks confused, turning the jersey to read the embroidery on the back.
The look that spreads across his face is everything I hoped for—surprise melting into wonder, then into a joy. His eyes lift to mine, wide with question.
"Is this what I think it is?? Are we having a baby?" His voice cracks on the last word, barely audible.
I nod, suddenly unable to speak past the lump in my throat. "I’m eight weeks," I manage finally. "Due in July."
