“Mama,” she declares, and points imperiously at the cake.
“Just like her mama,” Luke says, taking Valentine from my arms and settling her on his hip. He drops a kiss on our daughter's frosting-covered nose. “Sweet tooth through-and-through.”
When it comes time to eat the cake, Valentine, still in Luke's arms, watches with wide turquoise eyes—her father's eyes—as I stick a candle into a relatively pristine section.
“Should we sing?” Emily asks.
“Obviously we're singing,” Luke's mom declares, and suddenly everyone is launching into “Happy Birthday,” off-key and enthusiastic.
I watch Valentine's face as she takes it all in: the singing, the attention, the love radiating from every person here. Her little hand reaches for the candle, and Luke gently redirects it.
“Careful, sweetheart,” he say. “Hot.”
“Ha,” she repeats in her sweet little voice.
When the song ends, I lean in and kiss her chubby cheek. “Make a wish, baby girl.”
Of course, she can't blow out candles yet, so Luke and I doit together, our breath mingling as we extinguish the flame. There’s a cheer, and then Luke’s mom takes charge of distributing the untouched sheet cake to guests.
“What didyouwish for?” Emily asks me as people start claiming slices of cake.
I look around.
I look at my husband holding our daughter. At my father and Buster, both healthy and happy. At my family and friends gathered around us.
I look at the ranch land stretching out in every direction, golden in the late afternoon light. I think about the cabin just over the ridge where the three of us wake up every morning as a family.
“I didn't need to wish for anything,” I say honestly. “I already have everything I could ever want.”
“Sap,” Emily teases, but her eyes are suspiciously shiny.
Later, after the cake has been reduced to crumbs and the presents have been opened—Valentine was way more interested in the wrapping paper than the actual toys—I find myself sitting on the porch steps with my dad.
“You happy, Maddie?” Dad asks, watching Luke chase Valentine around the yard while she shrieks with laughter.
“So happy I don't even have words for it,” I admit. “Sometimes I wake up and can't believe this is my life.”
“You deserve it.” He pats my knee. “You and Luke both. That's a good man you married. Though I gotta say," Dad continues, a mischievous glint in his eye, “I never thought my matchmaking skills would work quite this well.”
I turn to stare at him. “Matchmaking skills? Dad, what did you do?”
“Nothing major.” He's trying to look innocent and failing. “Just maybe made sure you two kept getting the same days off. Thatsort of thing.”
“Dad!”
“What? Worked, didn't it?” He gestures to where Luke has now scooped up Valentine and is spinning her around while she giggles uncontrollably. “Look at that. That's a family, Madison.Yourfamily. And if I helped it along a little bit, well, that's what fathers are for.”
I lean my head on his shoulder, too happy to be annoyed. “Thank you.”
His voice is gruff when he responds. “Always, Maddie girl. Always.”
As the sun paints the sky in shades of pink and gold, Luke makes his way back to the porch with a very sleepy Valentine. Her head is on his shoulder, her eyes already drooping.
“I think someone's had enough birthday excitement,” he says softly, running a gentle hand over her curls.
There's a flurry of goodbyes as guests start to leave. Hugs and thanks and promises to do it again soon. Luke's family begins the cleanup, waving us off when we try to help.
“You two get that baby home,” Luke's mom insists. “We've got this.”
