“You too,” I call back, waiting for him to leave. Everything about this encounter should feel fine, but, for some reason, the moment he’s through the door and disappears down the sidewalk, I breathe a sigh of relief. I don’t have to lock up yet, I still have to cash out, but that doesn’t stop me from heading right over and locking the deadbolt tight behind him.
The subtle scent of sage and lavender fill the main hall of Wade’s wedding barn, emanating from the centerpieces that sit on every table.
They’re made from the lavender we harvested and dried at our property in October. I sayourproperty because my old house just sold for over asking and, after moving my own belongings in, Asher’s home feels like it’s more my home than anywhere I’ve ever lived.
I’m sitting in a comfortable white wingback chair, wearing a long, soft sage dress with off-the-shoulder puff sleeves, gold layered necklaces, and a sash that saysMama-to-be,my feet covered in strips of wrapping paper. CeCe and Mama Jo scramble to pick it up and toss it in the recycling bag beside me. They’re having a hard time keeping up because it feels like my mother invited the entire town to shower me with gifts. My worry over the encounter with the man in my shop earlier feels silly now that I sit here, happy and safe. My emotions are all over the place this far into my pregnancy.
“You got a spare room to keep all this in?” Jo asks with a wink.
“I think I’m gonna need it.” I look to the table beside me, which is filled with clothes, toys, diapers, and every single gadget I could ever need to care for this baby.
“You look so happy, darlin’,” Jo comments as she squeezes my shoulder. She’s right. My cheeks hurt from smiling so much today, but I’ve never felt more grateful or blessed.
“I really am.” I draw my palm over my thirty-two-week belly.
“See how good fate is at making plans for ya?” She winks as my mother picks up one more box.
“Last one, sweetheart,” my mom says, handing me the gift. “Your dad told me I had to wait until they got here.” She nods to the front of the hall, where my dad and the man who takes my damn breath away every time I look at him have just come through the doors. Everyone starts clapping for Asher as the dad-to-be.
My eyes meet his across the room and I know he’s uncomfortable. Being the center of attention is not his thing, but I flash him a reassuring grin, which he returns, looking like a straight-up baby daddy snack. He’s all scrumptious in his fitted jeans and uniform black T-shirt, but it’s those bottomless eyes that cause the familiar drop in my stomach I fear will never go away. It also causes a strong kick from little bear. He or she knows Daddy is here.
Asher makes his way over to me and kisses the top of my head with my dad close behind. They’ve spent the day together putting the finishing touches on the baby’s space so we could bring this payload of gifts home.
My dad gives me a little side hug before nodding to the gift in front of me.
“Go on. I’ve been waiting twenty-five years to give you this.” His eyes crinkle as he beams down at me. How I got so lucky to perfectly join my past and future together I’ll never know. Though I won’t take one second of it for granted.
“You’re gonna make the pregnant lady cry, aren’t you?” I ask him as emotion bubbles up and threatens to spill over.
“Aye,” Asher says, kissing me. His hand comes down over my belly, and he whispers into my ear so no one can hear what he says next. “If you’re feeling like you need something after, there’s a good bathroom down the hall.”
He chuckles darkly with another kiss to my cheek. I grin up at him and someone takes our photo; it seems fitting that the shower is being hosted at the scene of the crime. I love that our baby was made here at Silver Pines.
Pulling the paper back carefully, I lift the lid on the large box. Inside are two laser-engraved boxes. They’re identical in shape and size but one has the wordsOlivia’s Storyengraved on top with an ornate-looking border. The other has the same border but the name space is blank. To be decided.
I open up the first one and I’m met with … my life. An old baby book with two little teddy bears on the front I’ve seen many times before. I pull it open and note my birth mother’s handwriting. I haven’t looked at this in so long. I start to cry softly as I read her words; they tell me when I got my first teeth, my sleep schedule or lack thereof, my first foods, how old I was when I first rolled over, and when I took my first step. The story of my life continues all the way until my fourth birthday, when my now mom and dad take over. Photos of the first day they brought me home, my childhood bedroom, notes about how I adjusted to living with them, the first birthday I spent with them, and then my first day of school in Laurel Creek.
Photos of me as a little girl soon turn into so many photos of the three of us on road trips, at my graduations, dance recitals, soccer games. And then I’m looking at mementos I never even knew my parents kept. Movie stubs from seeing the Twilight series at the cinema, a ticket from my first concert, the Jonas Brothers. My dad took me and Ginger to it like a trooper. Cards I made them, report cards, pictures I drew, the memories feel never-ending.
I pause for a beat, realizing I’ve never been more grateful for two people in my life. The stars were aligned when I ended up with Ken and Lynn Sutton. No planning could have prevented what happened to my birth parents; their loss will always be profound for me, but there isn’t one part of me that feels empty now. Asher helped me to realize that. I know now that I’m a perfect blend of all my parents, and the confident woman the people I love have helped me to become.
“She kept everything,” my dad says, pointing to my mom. “We saved it all, and your mother thought now would be a good time to hand it over to you.” Tears line his own eyes. “But Asher made the keepsake boxes.”
I look up at this man of mine, so proud, so gorgeous and strong. “Of course he did.”
“What do you call that, Lynnie?” my dad asks my mom. “Cahoots?” He chuckles.
My mom swipes her tears away. “Yup, cahoots.”
Asher bends down and kisses my cheek. “Open the next one.”
I do as he says, opening it slowly to see a much emptier box. Inside is just one baby book, “The Story of Little Bear” written across the front. I trace my fingers along it.
“Now”—my dad struggles to get his words out—“you two can start your own memory box.”
When I lift the book out, I notice some small items already inside. Ultrasound photos, a piece of quartz we found on one of our walks to the river, dried lavender, a receipt from the Burger Barn the first night he brought me to his house. A cupcake pick from one of the cupcakes I brought to the Ashbys’ Fourth of July party. A selfie of me and Asher he took while we were working on the baby’s room last month.
One of me just a couple of weeks ago on the sofa in one of his T-shirts, shorts, and the last thing to still fit me: my cow slippers. Duke’s head is nuzzled in my lap, and my hand is onmy belly. Underneath the book is a little bag and when I look inside, I start to laugh. Asher has bought a tiny pair of slippers. They’re cow-shaped, just like mine.
