I wished his parents could be here to see the life we’d made, see the things Aiden had done with the farm in the last year.
There were moments I was sure I was dreaming, especially when I stood in this kitchen. Aiden’s family breathed life into the house, updating and expanding over the last few decades, but my favorite place was the giant granite island in the middle of the kitchen. From there, I had a full view of the living space and the gorgeous wood tones, which photographed so richly when I snuck in a few pictures.
In the evenings, Phoebe did her homework across from me while I prepped and cooked dinner. On rare occasions, like today, Aiden joined us in the kitchen, and my world felt whole. While I’d loved all the places Phoebe and I lived before, everyone I loved lived here. And Aiden and I had memories here of people we loved that were no longer with us.
Aiden’s mom once told me the kitchen is the heart of every home. I’d been too young to appreciate the advice then, but I’ve carried it with me throughout my entire motherhood journey. And I try to make her proud now.
“Who are these for?” Phoebe asks, eyeing the pile of cardstock and markers.
“I thought we could make some Valentine’s mailboxes and cards. Maybe start a new tradition?”
I flick my eyes to her, then back to the hearts she cut before she got distracted.
“Like us, orallof us?”
I raise my eyebrow. “Do you want it to be just us, or would you like me to invite Uncle Owen and Aunt Evie to join us?”
The third Wheeler sibling I occasionally hear about is still shrouded in mystery, and I hope he’ll make an appearance sooner than later. But I’m staying out of it.
“Can I go get them?” She bats her eyelashes, and I roll my eyes.
“Coat and boots are necessary, young lady.”
She scurries off the barstool and mainlines straight for the back door. “Okay! Be right back!”
I watch her run across the field to the Santa Barn, where they’re both working on my Valentine’s setup for this weekend. Every package includes one Polaroid for the nostalgia, and a handful of professional ones for the parents.
It sold out in less than a day.
Aiden watches me before gently taking my chin and forcing me to pause.
“Are you feeling okay?” I’d be offended if his voice weren’t so soft, and his eyes weren’t churning with worry.
“Tired.” I shrug. “It’s been busy.”
He’s unmoored, though, squinting his eyes at me. “This isn’t your usual tired.”
“Most women don’t enjoy this level of scrutiny, Mr. Wheeler.”
“Most men probably don’t spend all their free time staring at their wives, wondering how they got so lucky either, Mrs. Wheeler.”
If I weren’t already a hormonal pile of slush, I’d tease him for being so cheesy. But since I am, it hits an old ache just right—the part of me that still doesn’t trust this kind of care—and makes me emotional.
I drop the spatula and swipe under my eyes.
“Chloe, I can handle this stuff. Evie can help. Do you want to go take a nap? Did you sleep badly last night?”
I shake my head, half laughing. “You’re literally ruining your own surprise because you’re too observant and you care about me too much.”
“I’m not following. Are those… bad things?”
I glance out the window, for once relieved that the three of them are still all the way out by the barn.
With a sigh, I pull a photo out of the pocket of my apron and hand it to him.
“Surprise, Daddy,” I whisper, a hint of a smile on my lips.
I wish I’d had the foresight to video this moment, so I could rewatch the emotions that flicker around his face—from shock to sheer elation.
