“Letus, Cass,” Rafe, ever the gentle twin, reminds Cass they’re in it together. “But yeah, Dad. When canwestart? Let us skin, please.”
Their voices, their closeness, the way they fit so easily into the rhythm Knox sets—all of it squeezes at my heart until my eyes blur.
Tears sting, and not just from love. From hormones too.
I gave birth three months ago, and I’m already pregnant again.
I love that. We all do.
It’s never slowed us down either. If anything, our business is thriving.
Our customers are loyal, patient, and more like family than anything else. They notice when I’m gone, send flowers when they miss me, help Knox when I’m on maternity leave. They don’t judge us for letting our kids roam freely in the back.
God, I really need to stop crying over literally everything. Especially over the fact that it’s the weekend, my favorite time of the week.
For two whole days, our kids come to work with us every week.
All five of them.
Juno is our firstborn. She was conceived in Colbert, and I swear she carries that town with her. The quiet intensity, the sharpness in her hazel eyes. The only piece of me she has is my blonde hair. I never tie hers into pigtails. Ever.
Less than a year after she was born, our first pair of adorable twins arrived. Cass and Rafe. Both blond, but that’s where their resemblance ends. Rafe, with his hazel eyes, is protective and watchful, always keeping Cass in check. Cass, with his mischievous smirk and glinting green eyes, will forever be trouble.
Then came the girls, Vada and Nicoletta. These precious two are identical, with golden hair, hazel eyes, and firecracker souls. Vada usually starts crying, and Nicolettalovesto echo her.
I love them and their daddy. So much.
My parents love and respect us too. From the moment I told them that Bronwyn and Easton ditched me in Colbert and were now officially missing persons, my parents stopped pushing me to be a doctor. They were relieved that I was alive, well, and happy, and that’s all that mattered.
They still have no idea where Bronwyn is. No one’s called about the missing posters we hung at gas stations and convenience stores around what used to be the town of Colbert.
So, yeah. They support us and help with babysitting whenever they can. They take fewer shifts at the hospital because they’re so obsessed with their grandchildren. Maybe because they understand that any day, any time, one of us could go missing.
They even tease me about baby number six, but I can tell that they’re as excited to meet them as the rest of the family is.
“Soon,” I whisper, setting down the rag towel.
I rub my belly, just like Knox does every chance he gets. Late at night, in the shower, at the grocery store, anywhere.
You’re perfect, Trouble, he murmurs.Perfect and mine.
Another wave of wailing drifts from the back. My chuckle is a watery one.
“Sweetheart, Junebug, hand me the knife.” Knox is patient, genuinely so.
The sound of his voice makes me melt all over again.
My husband.
My soulmate.
The father who wakes at night for the babies, always before me.
The man who always says,I’ve got youand means it.
Mine.
With ten minutes until the shop opens, I decide it’s time to stop eavesdropping and join them.
