Baby.
When I met this woman a little over a year ago, she hardly ate the food I put in front of her, eyeing me with polite suspicion. I never thought I’d earn that term of endearment. Now, just like my fiancée isFreya baby, I’mAnton baby.
And I love it.
I reach Gabrielle up into her grandma’s hands and then hoist myself out of the pool.
Glancing toward the grill, a cluster of men joke and argue loudly near the flames. “Seems to me like they’ve got plenty of talent over there.”
Faith hums. “Oh, they don’t need help cooking. They need help taste-testing.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “That sounds like a good way to earn an enemy today.”
“I set you up.” A playful smile teases the corner of her lips.
“Baptism of fire?”
She hands me a towel from the back of the lounge chair. “Don’t even think about being diplomatic either. “You’ll lose their respect.”
I wrap the towel around my waist. “Thanks for the tip.”
She leans in slightly, lowering her voice. “Now don’t go and tell them I already voted your ribs the best in the family. You hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I salute her.
She bounces Riri on her hip. “I trust you.”
Trust.
It’s just a joke. She doesn’t want a feud to break out in the garden over ribs. But the word still hits me straight in the chest. I love this woman. I’m as lucky to have her in my life as everyone else here.
Faith’s presence is solid beside me in a way that reaches a place in my life that’s been empty since my mom died. She matters to me not just as Freya’s mom or Gabrielle’s grandmother, but as someone who’s stepped into that space.
Now, I have someone caring for me in those practical ways.
She calls people from her network who might want bespoke furniture.
She tells me to eat more, even when I have a full plate.
She asks me how I’m sleeping.
She includes me in everything.
We’re family.
She shoos me off toward the grill. “Now go put some meat on your bones.”
I wander toward the back of the garden and barely get through the smoke before Lita zeroes in on me, a balled-up napkin in hand.
“There you are, honey,” she declares. “The chef.”
She escorts me by the arm toward her grandsons, Cory and Micah, who argue near the smoker.
“Anton will settle it,” she insists.
Cory turns toward a table set up near the smoker and grabs a plate with two ribs.
Micah points to the plate being handed to me. “Fifty bucks is riding on this.”
