Her text comes in late, but I’m awake, snuggling baby Rose, the only girl in Conall and Meg’s litter. The boys, Hawthorn, Bramble, and Thistle, are distributed among the other members of our family. We’re all gathered in their den while Conall and Meg get some well-earned rest after coming home early this evening.
Despite the fact that we’re usually a pretty raucous group, tonight we’re all under the spell of these tiny bundles, and the cozy atmosphere isjust soft murmurs and the occasional infant sounds as the babies are passed around.
“Thank you for the flowers,” Julia writes. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to. How was the appointment?” I send back, surprised she’s still awake.
“Good. Doc says I need more protein, so I went shopping after. The flowers were a nice surprise when I got home.”
“I’m glad you liked them. I still owe you a lunch, though.”
She doesn’t reply immediately, and I think the conversation must be over. I’m about to tell her goodnight when three dots appear, indicating she’s typing something. They disappear and then reappear again, so I wait for her to formulate whatever she’s trying to say.
“Did you write the card for the flowers or did the florist?” she finally sends.
“I did.” I ordered them at the hospital’s flower shop while I was there visiting after the birth. “Why do you ask?”
“You have nice handwriting.”
I grin stupidly at my screen until my brother Sean, who’s holding Bramble, notices and smirks at me.
“Your mate?” he whispers, sharing a knowing look with his own mate, who’s patting their drowsy toddler daughter’s back as she drifts off in her lap. Apuppy pile of cousins is crashed out on the floor nearby. “Invite her over.”
I hold my phone tight like it’s Julia’s hand. Being here with everyone, tending Conall’s pups while he and his mate sleep in each other’s arms…it makes me realize that this is what it will be like when our litter is born. The pups and I will be circled with the love of my family, but she won’t. And she probably doesn’t even know what it’s like to have a pack. She doesn’t know what she’s missing.
“I wish you were here,” I impulsively thumb-type with one hand. “You want to come and hold the babies?”
“I’m already in my PJs.”
“So is everyone else.” I take a quick panorama shot of the room as evidence, as well as a shot of my plaid-flannel-clad lap, and send them both to her. “See? You’ll fit right in.”
“You know what? If it’s really okay for me to be there, I would love to come.”
A pleased shock ripples through me, and my tail thumps on the sofa cushion next to me. I expected her to decline. She’s been so careful not to blur any lines. Maybe attending the howl a couple weeks ago made her feel more comfortable hanging out with my family.
“You remember how to get here?”
“Yep. I’m on my way.”
I have to remember to breathe. The burst of air I let out stirs little Rose, who gives a tiny baby growl at being woken. I jiggle her a little until she settles back down and then, once I’m sure she’s completely asleep again, pass her off to my mom, who I can tell is greedy for more puppy time now that she’s filled Conall’s fridge with meals.
“Julia’s on her way,” I say quietly so I don’t wake Rose again.
“Oh, Ian!” Mam’s eyes well up. Everyone is a little extra emotional over the new additions to the family. “That’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you.”
“I don’t know that it means anything,” I rush to add. “She really loves babies, and I may have dangled these pups as bait.”
“Whatever works to get her here, as far as I’m concerned. The whole pack should be together, in good times and in bad.”
“I love you, Mam,” I tell her. I’m glad she thinks of Julia as pack already. Now I just have to get Julia thinking that way.
I wait outside for her in the cold, clear night. It’s after midnight, but the moon is so bright, it hardly feels like it. The Milky Way is an obvious wash across the center of the sky, and I want to howl, it’s so beautiful.
Her blue Volvo pulls up sooner than I expect. She must have left right after we texted about it. Andsure enough, when she gets out, she’s wearing purple pajamas under her coat. They have little sheep on them, and her fuzzy, cream-colored sherpa jacket makes her top half look a little bit like a lamb. So freakin’ adorable, I can’t stand it.
“Cute jammies,” I say, grinning.
“Yours, too.” Her cheeks turn pink, but maybe it’s the cold air. “I’ve never been outside in my pajamas before.”
