I laugh through tears. “Santa did.”
He kisses me.
A trembling, breathless, reverent kiss that makes my chest ache.
Junie plops into his lap, not entirely understanding but sensing something monumental is happening. She wraps her arms around both of us.
“Captain Saxon?” she whispers.
He pulls her into the hug too, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Yeah, baby girl?”
Her voice trembles. “Are we gonna have a baby?”
He laughs—a broken, overwhelmed sound. “Yeah, Junebug. We are.”
She squeals and starts bouncing in his lap. “A baby! A baby! Can I name it? Can I help? Can I?—”
Saxon hugs her tighter, burying his face in her hair.
I see it. His joy. His awe. His fear and hope tangled together.
And that emotion from the firehouse—when he told her he’d be honored to be her dad—wells up again, fuller, deeper, uncontainable. He turns to me, eyes shining.
“You’re… you’re giving me a family.”
“You already have one,” I whisper. “This just makes it bigger.”
He cups my cheek, brushing away my tears with his thumb.
“I love you, Briar,” he says, voice low and certain and rough. “I love both of you. All three of you.”
I break.
Completely.
I lean into him, kissing him softly, my forehead against his, breathing him in—smoke, pine, coffee, and Saxon.
Always Saxon.
He pulls back slightly, eyes flickering to my stomach. His hand slides slowly down, warm and reverent, stopping over my lower abdomen. He spreads his palm there. Protective. Awed. Home.
“There’s a baby in there,” he whispers, like he’s afraid to say it too loud.
“There is.”
His eyes shine. “Our baby.”
I nod.
He lets out a shaky laugh—deep, disbelieving, joyful. “I don’t deserve this.”
“You do,” I say, cupping his face. “You deserve everything.”
Junie squeezes us before leaping off the couch. “Can we have cinnamon rolls now?”
Saxon barks a laugh, rubbing his face. “Yes, Junebug. Cinnamon rolls for my girls.”
“And the baby!” she adds.
