"She's got a hell of a village waiting," I reply.
That night, Lucy drives us out to the open field behind Oakside, following my instructions. The stars are already dusting the sky, and the air smells like earth and memory.
She looks around, curious. "What are we doing out here?"
Opening the truck door, I pull out the rolled-up blueprints I've been hiding in the backseat.
"I want to build something," I say. "For you. For us. For her."
I spread the sketches out on the hood of the truck. My hand rests on the pencil marks. There’s the porch, the nursery, and the window seat I know Lucy would love.
Her eyes fill. She looks at me, hands over her mouth.
"You drew these?"
"I'm gonna make them real. I want this to be our home. I want our daughter to run barefoot through this grass and fall asleep listening to the crickets. Noah bought a bunch of this land when they purchased Oakside, and he set aside some for you and Grace. This is yours, and where I thought we would build. "
Lucy steps closer, her hand landing over mine on the blueprints.
"Let's do it," she whispers.
We kiss under the stars, slow and deep and full of every promise I've ever wanted to keep.
Her hands slide into my hair. Mine rest on her hips, then over her belly and up to her chest. I feel her heart beating under my palm.
"Get in the truck," she says urgently, pulling back from me.
She drives us over to the caretaker's cabin, where I had her the first time, where I'm sure our daughter was conceived. It is the perfect place for us to come back together intimately.
I lead Lucy through the cabin door, my heart racing like this is our first time. In a way, it is. Our first time since I've been back, since I've been whole enough to love her properly.
The cabin looks different in the moonlight. Cleaner. Someone's been tending to it. I wonder if she came out here to be closer to us. I know I would have. But tonight isn't about the past.
Lucy's hands slide under my shirt as we stumble through the doorway, her touch igniting something primal in me. The cabin feels sacred somehow, as if we've come full circle. This place where we first gave ourselves to each other now holds us again, different people, changed by time and pain, even so, still us at our core.
"I've missed you," she whispers against my neck, her breath hot on my skin. "Every inch of you."
I easily lifted her, and her legs wrapped around my waist perfectly. The weight of her, the curve of her belly between us, makes my throat tight with emotion. I carry her to the bedroom, my steps steadier than I would have thought possible weeks ago.
As I lay Lucy down gently on the bed, I’m careful of her growing belly.
"You okay?" I ask, hovering above her, searching her face for any sign of hesitation.
She reaches up and traces the line of my jaw, her touch feather-light. "I'm better than okay. I'm home."
Those words hit me square in the chest. Home. That's what she is to me, what she's always been. My constant. My compass. My way back.
I undress her slowly, my hands reacquainting themselves with every curve. Her skin is softer than I remembered, warmer. When my palm spreads across her belly, our daughter kicks against it, and I nearly come undone right there.
"She knows it's you," Lucy breathes, her hand covering mine.
"Hey there, little one," I whisper to her stomach, my voice thick. "It's your Daddy."
Another kick, stronger this time, and Lucy laughs, the sound I've been starving for. I lean down and press my lips to her belly, to the place where our daughter grows.
When I look up, Lucy's eyes are bright with tears. "I love you," she says, every word heavy with meaning.
"I love you too, Sunshine. Both of you."
