I reach over Ivy, and grab Lilah’s hand, locking our fingers as best I can with the size difference, and rest our joined hands on Ivy’s stomach. We’re all on the same giant pillow squished together, even though there’s plenty of space on either side of us. I peek over Ivy’s face at my daughter.
“I am,” I reply hoarsely, meaning it with my whole being.
The faintest pink sunlight shines through the room, casting a soft rosy glow over the perfect faces of the two loves of my life. Blue and pale green eyes side-by-side, a pile of dark curls and freckles stare back at me.
You are.
The familiar voice rings through my head, and my throat burns with emotion.
Yeah, I am.
39
Ivy
“You two go ahead of me, I’ll be right there,” I call over to Wesley from the kitchen.
He looks over at me from where he’s crouched on the ground tying Delilah’s shoe, and arches an eyebrow. “Why are you acting weird?” he asks.
I look down at myself, like I could visibly see the weirdness he’s talking about. I know I am, but I’m choosing to gaslight him right now. “I’m not acting weird, you're acting weird.”
“Alright, let's go bug. Ivy will meet us there,” he says, and ushers Delilah out the door. Before shutting it behind him, he pops his head in one last time. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but behave,” he says.
“No promises,” I snipe back, and scrape my teeth over my bottom lip.
Wesley mutters something about being the death of him, but finally leaves the house. The second the door clicks shut, I whip my phone out and pull up the delivery tracking link I’ve refreshed twelve times today already. It should be here any minute. I run over to the largebay window in the front of the house to look outside, and wait like a kid on christmas morning.
As if Wesley and Delilah’s departure summoned it, the large mail truck comes ambling up the gravel road, kicking up dust in its wake. I don’t even let the delivery driver leave his truck, meeting him at his door to sign for the package. After handing his tablet back over, I don’t waste a second, tossing my thanks over my shoulder and start hustling up the road to Buck and Maggies.
When I enter the front door, the unmistakable smell of Maggie’s cooking wafts through the air. My stomach grumbles reflexively, but I ignore it for now, and set off to complete the next part for my plan.
Following the sound of several voices all talking at once, I make my way into the large farm style kitchen to find just about every Cooper in here. Oh, and one Fletcher.
Wesley is standing next to Delilah, who’s sitting on the counter. Lincoln, Sophie, Beau, Maggie, and Buck all surround the kitchen island as well, arguing over something I haven’t caught on to yet.
“I don’t know how to work it,” Buck chuffs, slapping his hand down on the marble countertop.
“You hit two buttons, Buck. It’s not that difficult,” Maggie says with an eye roll.
“I just don’t see what was wrong with the last machine,” he grumbles.
“It broke, Dad.” Sophie laughs. “Linc got his wish.”
“Yeah, he probably broke it,” Buck accuses.
Voices raise, and they all argue over the accusations of coffee maker sabotage. I tune them out, and rifle through drawers to find a pair of scissors. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Wesley eyeing me suspiciously, but carry on anyway.
“Beau, would you look at an injury on Sophie’s back?” I hear Maggie ask.
“Mother. No,” Sophie nearly growls. “I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.”
“Yes, but from an old piece of wood Sophie June. I don’t want it to get infected.”
I slice my gaze over to my best friend, and the bane of her existence, as I cut the box open, and rifle through the packing peanuts. Beau’s eyebrows lower, and he scans Sophie.
“Yes, but I cleaned it. I’ll be fine,” she says exasperated.
“Hush, just lift the back of your shirt and show him,” Maggie demands in her mom voice.
