It fails.
Inside, the fire crackles low. Hot cocoa steams in a mug on the counter, and the place smells like chocolate and comfort.
Nova stands at the kitchen counter in one of my shirts, barefoot, hair piled up messy, humming like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
She does.
She just carries them different now.
She’s six months pregnant, and she has that glow that makes me feel stupid because I still don’t know what to do with how much I love her. Like my chest is too small to hold it.
Nugget is stationed at her feet like a sentry. Three years and five months old now. Bigger, sturdier, still a menace. Still thinks he owns the cabin. Still thinks he owns us.
Nova moves to the couch and sits. I follow her and drop down beside her, and Nugget hops up after us, planting himself against her belly like the baby is his personal responsibility.
“You’re going to suffocate the child before it even gets here,” I mutter.
Nugget blinks at me like I’m the unreasonable one.
Nova snorts. “He’s protecting his sibling.”
“He’s not his sibling.”
“Of course he is,” she says, and I hear the smile in her voice.
I pull her closer against my side and slide my hand over her belly. Nova leans into me with a soft sound.
Then the baby kicks. Hard.
I freeze.
It hits again.
My throat tightens.
Nova laughs, all warmth and mischief. “Told you. Our kid’s strong.”
“Our kid,” I repeat, like I’m testing the words for cracks.
She looks over her shoulder, green eyes bright. “Yes, Maverick. Your kid. The one you helped make.”
I keep my hand there because I can’t stop. I’m addicted to the proof.
Proof that the quiet cabin I built for one has turned into a place where something new is growing.
Proof that I didn’t screw up my chance at happiness.
She turns, reaches up, and cups my cheek like it belongs to her.
“You’re quiet,” she says gently. “In your head again.”
I catch her wrist and kiss her palm. “I’m just…”
“Happy?” she offers, soft.
I pull her close and press my lips to her forehead. “Yeah. Happier than I ever knew how to want.”
Her voice is steady. “You deserve to want it. You deserve to have it. I do too.”
