“She does,” Zoe murmured, throat tightening.
“Speaking of babies… tomorrow’s your appointment, right?”
“I know. I’m going to talk to Jackson. This morning. Ask him if he wants children one day.”
“Good. I’m proud of you, Zo.” Krista smiled.
“I’m scared,” Zoe admitted. “What if we’re not aligned? What if it turns into another Ben? It’s possible neither of us can have kids anyway. Maybe I shouldn’t push it.”
“Maybe you should stop talking yourself out of what you want.”
Zoe huffed a laugh. “You’re right.”
“If you two can’t have kids, that’s different from not wanting them. You know that.”
Krista allowed Frankie to pull her down the sidewalk. “Call me later?”
“What if he says no?” Zoe replied instead.
“And if he says yes?”
Zoe’s heart clenched. “That would be everything.”
FORTY-EIGHT
JACKSON
Monday, April 7th
Jackson woke to the smell of frying bacon drifting into Zoe’s bedroom.
He stretched out, savoring the comfort of her room. The sheets smelled faintly of her—soft, floral, familiar. His gaze wandered, landing on the top of her dresser, which looked like a museum of her life: a delicate gold necklace tangled with a satin ribbon, a few earrings in a trinket dish shaped like a leaf. Framed photos of her mom and of Zoe laughing at the lake with friends. A stack of books leaned precariously on the nightstand, half-read novels and a gardening guide.
Clothes were draped over the wicker hamper. They weren’t even remotely close to being folded. And the plants. So many plants. A Christmas cactus catching the sun. A small pothos cutting, its leaves just starting to trail. Succulents lined along the sill. Air plants perched in tiny glass globes. The room was nature brought indoors, alive and breathing.
He glanced at his own clothes. Theyhad beentidy on the chair. Last night he’d folded them out of habit, but somehowthey were back on the floor now. He shook his head with a grin. Maybe this was what it meant to loosen up and live a little.
With a shrug, he went through to the kitchen wearing only his boxers.
“Well, good morning to me,” Zoe said.
The kitchen was warm with the smell of bacon and coffee, the air hazy with steam from the frying pan. He slid his arms around her waist, kissed her cheek.
“So, how’s the ankle today? Still sore, or did the magic of the Moonlight Kiss flower do its job?”
Zoe laughed softly. “Well, it’s not so bad today…but I’m not sure the magic’s working perfectly. I can still feel it a little.”
Jackson grinned. “Hmm, maybe I need to kiss you again. You know, just to be thorough.”
“Now that, I can agree to.” She turned in his arms and pressed her lips to his.
They broke apart after a moment, Zoe turning back to the stove. “I hope you’re hungry. I made bacon, pancakes, and scrambled eggs. Coffee’s almost ready.”
The table was set with mismatched plates, a jar of wildflowers in the middle. The coffee maker gave a final sputter, filling the carafe with a rich, dark stream. Everything felt domestic, ordinary, and because it was her, extraordinary.
But when Jackson looked up, he saw something flicker across Zoe’s face. The way her shoulders lifted, then sagged. The way her hands tightened on the spatula. He knew her too well not to notice.
“What’s going on?” he asked quietly. “Not that I don’t appreciate breakfast—it smells amazing—but you’ve got something on your mind. I’m not trying to rush you, but I can tell it’s eating at you.”
