“It’s unfrosted and deconstructed,” I explain.
Jayne laughs, the sound catching and breaking a little. Her eyes shine. “Oh my God.”
I wipe my hands on a towel and cross to her, heart pounding like I’m about to scrub in for some impossible case.
“Hey,” I say quietly.
“Hey,” she echoes.
I kiss her. Soft. Familiar. Home.
She leans into me, one hand finding the back of my neck, and for a second, we’re not COO and surgeon and parents and logistics managers. We’re just Rhys and Jayne, two dumb kids who decided to build a life together without having a clue what that meant.
Finn groans. “Okay, please. There are children present.”
Mikaela claps her hands over her eyes. “My retinas!”
Jayne pulls back, laughing against my mouth. “We’re embarrassing them.”
“Good,” I murmur. “It’ll build character.”
We eat at the table, candles flickering and musiclow, some playlist Mikaela made that swings wildly from Beyoncé to old 90s R&B Iris corrupted her with.
“These potatoes aresogood,” Jayne says around a bite. “Who are you and what have you done with my husband?”
“He leveled up,” Finn says somberly. “He’s like Rhys 2.0.”
“I’m a limited-edition upgrade.” I hold up my wine glass. “Available for a small monthly fee and routine praise.”
Mikaela points her fork at him. “But you still forget things all the time, Daddy.”
Jayne laughs. “He’s allowed a few glitches. The software’s still new.”
We talk about everything and nothing.
The latest ridiculous thing Mikaela’s gymnastics coach said.
Finn’s upcoming SAT prep.
Daniel’s latest “emergency” email about furniture delivery.
Claire’s obsession with getting us all into couples’ board game nights.
“Absolutely not.” I set my silverware down. I am stuffed. “Jayne, you’re already too competitive.”
Finn snorts. “Youflipped the Monopoly board last time, Dad.”
“It was rigged.”
“Nothing rigged about it. You landed on Boardwalkwith a hotel and had no money to pay me,” Mikaela chimes in.
“Exactly.” I wave a finger. “Statistically improbable and therefore suspicious.”
The kids shake their heads in tandem.
When we’re too full to manage another bite, Mikaela drags out the cake. It’s lopsided, the frosting’s patchy, and there’s definitely more sprinkles on the plate than on the cake itself.
The number eighteen is made out crookedly in mini chocolate chips.
