The firehouse crew laughs. Margie shoots them all a look that could stop traffic and then waves me over with a sugar-dusted hand.
“Dax,” she says, bright and wicked. “Did you explain the rules?”
“What rules?” Rory asks, suspicious already.
Margie points to the doorway that leads into the kitchen. Hanging over the threshold is a ridiculous bouquet of fabric hearts tied together with ribbon. Pink, red, glittery—everything Rory and every other woman in this town loves.
“That,” Margie says sweetly, “is the heart bouquet. Works just like mistletoe.”
Rory’s eyes widen. “Margie?—”
“House rule,” Margie adds. “Anyone who passes under it gets kissed.”
The kids immediately lose their minds.
“Ooooh!”
“Kiss!”
“Again!”
Rory turns to me, mock glare in place, but her mouth is already twitching. “You planned this.”
“I didn’t,” I say honestly. Then grin. “But I’m not mad about it.”
She takes one step toward the kitchen and stops right under the hearts. Deliberate. Challenging.
“Well?” she says. “You gonna follow the rules, firefighter?”
I don’t hesitate.
I slide my hand to her waist, feel her lean into me without thinking, and kiss her slow and deep, right there in front of everyone. Not for show. Not for spectacle. Just because kissing my wife still feels like coming home.
She sighs into my mouth.
Then she freezes.
Her fingers tighten in my shirt. Her breath stutters.
I pull back instantly. “Red?”
She blinks up at me, confused, then winces.
“Oh,” she says. “Okay. That’s… new.”
My heart jumps straight into my throat. “What’s new?”
She presses a hand to her belly. “That. That was definitely?—”
Her face tightens again. She gasps.
Margie’s smile vanishes. “Is that a contraction?”
Rory looks between us. Then nods. “I think so.”
The room explodes.
Someone shouts. A chair scrapes. Kids are ushered away. Axel is already moving, phone out. Ash swears under his breath.
