“HewasNate’s cat. Now he sleeps on your feet every night. He follows you to the bathroom. He yelled at me this morning for opening the fridge too loudly.” Theo gestures at Mr. Darcy with his measuring tape. “That isyourcat now.”
“He’s guarding the baby.” I scratch behind Mr. Darcy’s ears and he deigns to purr, though he still looks deeply unimpressed by the construction noise.
“He’s plotting world domination,” Theo counters. “Starting with this household.”
Nate looks up from his work. Catches my eye across the yard. The late afternoon light turns his gray eyes silver, and the corner of his mouth twitches—not quite a smile, but close. The bond between us hums with quiet contentment.
I blow him a kiss.
The tips of his ears flush, and he ducks his head, turning back to his work. But I catch the purr that starts up in his chest, low enough that only I can hear it from here.
Some things never change.
Grandma arrivesfor Sunday dinner at six on the dot, because Eileen Donovan has never been late to anything in her seventy-five years.
She’s carrying a strawberry rhubarb pie that smells like summer, and she’s wearing her “good” cardigan—the blue one she saves for special occasions. But she doesn’t even make it past the back door before she’s inspecting the construction, pie thrust into my arms so she can examine the framing with a critical eye.
“They’ve got the walls up. Good.” She runs a hand along a support beam, nodding. “Sturdy. I want the kitchen window facing the garden, though. Did Nate get my notes?”
“All four pages.”
“Good. A woman needs proper light for her morning coffee.” She pats my belly as she passes back inside, her touch warm and familiar. “How’s my great-grandbaby today?”
“Active.” I set the pie on the counter. “I think they’re training for the Olympics. Gymnastics, specifically.”
“Strong baby.” Grandma beams, settling into her usual chair at the kitchen table like she owns the place. Which, honestly, she kind of does. “They’ll need the energy to keep up with me.”
She’s already planning. Already nesting in a building that doesn’t have walls yet. “I’ve started packing, you know. Just the essentials. Books. Kitchen things. That quilt your grandfather made.”
“Grandma, the flat won’t be ready for another month.”
“I like to be prepared.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Besides, someone needs to be here when the baby comes. Those boys will be wonderful fathers—” She gestures toward the backyard, where Lucas and Theo are still arguing over the window placement and Nate is steadfastly ignoring them both. “But sometimes a baby needs a grandmother’s touch.”
“And you’re volunteering?”
“I raised your mother, didn’t I?” She sniffs. “She turned out fine. Mostly.”
I hide my smile. The truth is, we’re all relieved she’s moving in.
Lucas has been worried about her living alone since her last checkup—something about blood pressure and stubborn patients who don’t take their medication on time.
Theo’s already planned where her herb garden will go, sketched it out on the back of a napkin with the same care he gives his nursery designs.
And Nate—Nate’s been driving out to check on her every other day for years, shoveling her driveway in winter and fixing whatever needs fixing without being asked.
Now she’ll be right here. Close enough to share Sunday dinners and random Tuesday lunches. Close enough to hold our baby whenever she wants.
Family. All of us. Together.
Dinner is chaos,but the good kind.
Theo’s made enough food for twelve people—roast chicken with herbs from his garden, roasted vegetables, fresh bread that’s still warm from the oven. The kitchen smells incredible,layered with the scents of rosemary and thyme and the underlying warmth of pack.
“The baby needs nutrients,” Theo says when I point out that I can’t possibly eat all of this.
“That’s not how pregnancy works,” Lucas says, passing me the salad. “The baby takes what it needs. Cara doesn’t need to eat for two.”
“Let him feed me.” I reach for more potatoes. “I spent two months surviving on crackers and ginger ale. I’ve earned this.”
