My wife is sitting there in the rocking chair, wrapped up in my flannel shirt, her red hair loose around her shoulders. She’s dozing, head tilted back, our baby boy fast asleep in her arms. Eli’s tiny fist is curled against his cheek, his mouth slightly open, and neither of them stirs at the sound of my axe. Josie always says she finds it calming—the rhythmic thud of metal on wood.
With a grunt of satisfaction, I split the last log clean down the middle and toss my axe to the ground, wiping the sweat from my brow. The wood is ready to be taken to the sawmill, but that can wait. Right now, all I care about is my wife and son, asleep on the porch in the golden sunlight. I watch them as I approach, my heart threatening to burst just like it always does when I look at them.
Can’t believe they’re mine.
I try to tiptoe up the porch steps, but the wood creaks beneath my weight, and Josie’s eyes flutter open. She smiles atme, those pretty green eyes twinkling. I swear she gets more beautiful every day.
“Sorry, sugar,” I murmur as I press a kiss on the top of her head, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“It’s okay. I was just dozing.”
I nod. “Want anything? You thirsty?”
“No, I’m good, thanks.”
“Something to eat?”
She shakes her head, smiling. “Honestly, Brewer, I’m fine.”
“How about a slice of cherry pie?”
A pause. Then her face spreads into a slow smile. “Actually, that does sound pretty good.”
I smile back at her, then go inside and cut her a generous slice, carrying the plate back out to the porch. Josie takes it with her free hand, and I settle into the chair beside her, reaching over to grab Eli.
“I got him, sugar.”
Our son feels feather-light in my hands as I lift him up and rest him on my chest with the ease of eleven months’ practice. He doesn’t even stir, and I lay a hand on his tiny back, bending to kiss his chubby cheek. He smells sweet and milky, his wispy red hair still holding the scent of baby shampoo.
It’s been almost a year, and I still can’t get over how small he feels in my arms. Like a grizzly bear cradling a hamster. He’s growing fast, already more toddler than baby—taking wobbly steps around the cabin, clinging to furniture for balance. But no matter how big he gets, I know I’ll never stop wanting to protect him. Never stop wanting to stand between him and the world.
Josie watches us as she eats her cherry pie, grinning when I meet her gaze. I wrap my free arm around her, sighing contentedly. I love these moments with my family—these quiet snatches of time where the world seems to stand still. Life isbetter than I ever could have imagined, and it’s all thanks to my wife.
Josie Benson.
I proposed soon after she told me she was pregnant. The wedding was tiny—just how we wanted it. A small ceremony on the mountain with Clay, Savannah, and a few family members. It was perfect. Still have to pinch myself sometimes when I look at her wearing my ring.
Josie is curvier than ever now, softer in every way, her body forever changed by carrying our son and bringing him into the world. I swear she’s never been more beautiful. She moves with a confidence that wasn’t there when I met her, and I think she’s finally starting to believe me when I tell her she’s perfect.
She finishes her cherry pie, and I watch as she stands up to take her plate back inside. Those deliciously thick thighs fill out her jeans, my flannel shirt tied off so it hugs her curves. A familiar desire sparks inside me, and I crane my neck, keeping my eyes on her as she walks through the door. Then I stand up slowly, holding Eli to my chest. He lets out a sleepy sigh as I carry him into the cabin, toward the nursery.
This used to be the spare room, but I cleared it out when Josie got pregnant, painting it sage and filling it with toys. Eli’s crib stands in the corner, the baby monitor propped up on the nightstand beside it, and I lay him gently on his back. He makes a noise, shifting in his sleep, then he settles once more, his tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.
I watch him for a few moments, listening to him breathe, my heart so full it’s almost painful. Then I hear the creak of a floorboard and turn to see Josie in the doorway, watching us.
“Did he go down okay?” she whispers as I move to join her.
“Yep. Didn’t even wake up.”
We watch him from the door for a few more moments. Then I ease it shut, take Josie’s hand and guide her into our bedroomacross the hall. It’s quiet inside, the afternoon light falling warm and honeyed through the window, catching Josie’s hair and making it shine like rubies.
“Why did you bring me in here?” she asks, feigning confusion, a knowing glint in her eye.
“Let me show you, sugar.”
I close the gap between us and kiss my wife. She tastes like cherry pie on my tongue, hot and sweet, and I groan as she presses against me, all my blood rushing downward. I’ll never stop wanting this woman. Never stop losing my mind over every kiss, every touch.
We don’t make it to the bed.
