She smiled. Everyone always wanted Jesse to record his own songs. He wrote hits for other artists now—Grammy-winning, chart-topping hits—but the industry never stopped trying to pull him back to center stage. The difference was, these days, the choice was his.
He shrugged. “We’ll talk about it.”
And they would. They’d learned to talk about everything they were thinking or feeling. She loved that he didn’t make those decisions without her, just like she never made big choices without him. They’d only been married a year, but it had been the best year of her life. Whatever she’d imagined marriage could be, the reality was better. Messier, louder, more complicated—and infinitely more joyful. She was living a dream come true—not because she was married to a famous man, but because she was married to an amazing person who loved her unconditionally.
“After the taping, I’m all yours,” she said, steadying her voice.
He tilted his head, reading her the way he always did. “You okay?”
“Perfect. Let’s do this.”
“Let’s do it.” Then he glanced down at the cake and groaned. “What did you make for today?”
She felt her cheeks heat and her belly flip again. “A slightly early anniversary cake.”
With a twist.
What if he didn’t love it?
Jesse raised a dark brow at her as Grace called places. The lights warmed. Bristol stepped behind her counter, centering herself the way she did every episode—hands on the cool surface, a breath in, a breath out. It worked…kind of. But today was different.
She tried not to pass out.
“Welcome back to Sweet Cinns.” She beamed at the camera, feeling the familiar comfort of doing what she loved. “I’m Bristol McCall, and today we’re making a triple-layer chocolate espresso cake with salted caramel that’s going to ruin you for every other dessert. And I’ve got a special guest with me—my husband, Jesse, who’s brought his guitar today.”
Jesse settled onto the stool beside her, the instrument resting easily against his body. “She says special guest. I say I showed up for the cake.”
The crew laughed. Bristol walked through the recipe, guiding the audience through each layer. Jesse taste-tested the caramel and nearly swooned off his stool, which made her laugh. This was their rhythm—easy, unscripted, real. Everything his old life hadn’t been. Everything her old life had been missing.
When she reached the reveal, her nerves kicked in. Her heart started hammering.
“Now, the anniversary version of this cake has a little surprise inside.” She set the finished cake between them and handed Jesse the knife. “Why don’t you do the honors?”
He paused, his gaze probing like he was trying to figure her out. Then he took the knife, cutting a clean wedge and lifting it free. The layers pulled apart—one unmistakably pink, the other unmistakably blue.
Jesse went very still.
“Honey?” He set the knife down slowly and turned to her. His dark eyes searched her face—stunned, wide, steady. “Are you… Is this…” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “We’re having a baby?”
Bristol nodded, tears spilling before she could stop them. “We’re having a baby. I found out yesterday.”
She’d been on the fence about doing this reveal on camera. She’d baked a cake without the colored layers for the camera. She’d planned to save the special version just for him, to tell him after the taping, in private. But she’d wanted to share their joy with the world, and instinct told her that he’d agree. Besides, their life had always been a little unscripted, and standing here with flour on her apron and his stunned expression lingering in her head…
This felt exactly right.
Jesse pulled her into his arms, lifting her off the ground. She felt his chest shudder against hers and knew he was crying. When he set her down, he cradled her face and kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her lips.
“I wrote a song for our baby,” he murmured against her mouth.
Bristol pulled back, blinking. “How did you?—”
“Know?” He dropped his head close to her ear, his voice low enough that the microphones wouldn’t catch it. “Honey, I know your body. I’ve noticed some changes.” He smiled, and the tenderness in it nearly undid her. “I’ve been hoping we could start a family. I didn’t know if you were ready, and I didn’t want to push. But…this is perfect.”
She laughed through her tears. Of course he’d known. Of course he’d already written a song. This man who once hadn’t been able to remember the names of the hordes of women he’d slept with had now memorized every curve and rhythm of her, body and soul.
“Play it for me?”
Jesse settled the guitar against his chest, cleared his throat, and began. The melody was spare and warm, built on a gentle fingerpicked pattern that reminded her of a lullaby grown up. His tenor filled the small studio—not the arena-shaking voice from his old albums, but something quieter, surer, confident and happy. The lyrics were simple. A father’s promise. A mother’s strength. A life they’d build with flour on the counter and music in every room.
