Hermom’s gaze flicks between us before she squeezes Kate’s arm. “You three have a good day.” Then she heads back down the walk.
We sit together on the couch, Evie tucked between us. Kate’s fingers trail lightly over her back, grounding both of them. Evie studies our faces, perceptive as always.
“Why do we need another talk?” she asks.
Kate takes a breath. I feel it—the moment she chooses calm over nerves. She takes Evie’s hand, voice gentle.
“Baby, Cam and I want to tell you something,” she says. “Something good.”
Evie’s eyes light up instantly. “Are we getting a puppy?”
Kate laughs. “Not a puppy.”
Evie gasps. “A unicorn?”
I bite back a smile as Kate shakes her head. “Not an animal. A promise.”
Evie tilts her head, working through that.
I take her other hand. “Your mom and I love each other,” I say carefully. “And we love you. So we wanted to ask how you’d feel if we became a family.”
Evie blinks. Then—quietly, seriously—“Like…forever?”
“If that’s okay with you,” Kate says. “Nothing changes unless you’re okay with it.”
Evie looks between us, then at me. “You’d be my Cam?”
My throat tightens as I nod. “Yeah.”
A big toothy grin forms on her face. “Okay. I want that.”
Kate’s breath catches as Evie launches into her arms. I wrap around both of them.
“Will there be a wedding?” Evie asks suddenly.
Kate smiles through misty eyes. “Yes, I think so. Maybe someday soon, we can have a big one. With music and cake and dancing.”
Evie’s face lights up. “And sparkles?”
“So many sparkles,” Kate promises.
Evie twists toward me. “You can be the prince.”
Kate meets my eyes, her smile wide and unguarded.
“That sounds about right,” she says softly.
Chapter forty-nine
Cam
Kinsey stares at me over her coffee like I’ve just told her I’m running for president.
“You’re serious?” she asks, straw poised midair. “You want me to help you pick out an engagement ring for Kate?”
“Yes, please?” I say, as calm as I can manage. “I want to get her something to represent my love for her. These plain bands don’t feel right anymore.”
Kinsey lets out a long, slow whistle. “The same Kate Prescott who alphabetizes her pantry and once made me check my drink for condensation before handing it to her over a library book?”
