Lavender squealed, delighted by her own bravery, and lurched forward again, Taters pacing beside her like a very patient mobility aid. She laughed—pure, unfiltered joy—and took off down the hall, half-running, half-falling, entirely fearless.
Poppy clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh my god. She’s walking.”
Decker laughed, loud and stunned. “That’s my kid. Absolutely zero interest in easing into anything.”
Lavender toddled faster, one hand still grazing Taters’s side, the other reaching for the world like it owed her something wonderful.
Decker shook his head. “Just like her mom. Too excited by life to sit still.”
Poppy shot him a look over her shoulder. “You fell in love with that.”
“I did,” he said simply. “Still am.”
The front door opened before either of them could say more.
“Well,” Aunt Opal announced, sweeping into the room dressed to the nines, every detail of her outfit intentional and impeccably styled. She carried herself with the effortless confidence of a woman accustomed to being noticed—and obeyed. There was mischief in her eyes, the kind that promised she was always three steps ahead of everyone else.
“I see I’ve missed something monumental,” she finished and stepped aside to reveal a baby boy balanced on her hip—round-cheeked, curious-eyed, already assessing the room like he owned it.
“Opal,” Poppy groaned. “No.”
Decker squinted. “Is that?—”
“William,” Opal said proudly. “Eleven months. Excellent temperament. Sleeps through the night. Likes dogs.”
“Where did you get that kid?” Decker asked.
“I borrowed him from my retirement community. He’s the grandson of my friend.”
Lavender skidded to a stop, stared at the new arrival, then toddled toward him with interest.
Opal beamed. “I’m thinking Lavender’s perfect match.”
“Oh, absolutely not,” Poppy said.
Decker laughed. “We are not starting this already.”
Opal waved them off. “Nonsense. I’m merely observing patterns. Chemistry. Fate.”
Lavender reached William, promptly plopped onto her bottom, and offered him Taters’s tail like a gift.
William grabbed it.
Everyone groaned in unison.
Opal smiled, victorious. “See? Electric.”
Poppy dropped her head onto Decker’s shoulder. “I’m changing the locks.”
Decker kissed her hair. “Too late. The matchmaker’s back.”
And in the middle of the hallway—between old pencil marks and new, between laughter and chaos and the quiet miracle of staying—the house held all of it.
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