“Cody!” Karissa calls, already half sitting up.
I react too, pulling Gage’s blanket gently up over his face just as Cody swoops in and catches Emma’s wrist.
“No, no,” he warns softly. “Gentle, remember?”
Emma pouts but nods, her little fingers curling in a slow petting motion right on her mom’s knee instead.
Karissa leans back into the couch, looking at Emma. “You have to be careful, and nice.”
Emma gets shy and walks away to Cody, who picks her up. She lays against his shoulder like he just saved the day.
I smile and shift Gage higher in my arms. “He’s perfect.”
Because he is. Tiny. Warm. Sleeping like the world outside doesn’t exist yet.
And for one quiet moment, I let myself imagine—just for a heartbeat—what it would be like if this were me and Mason. But it’s only a moment.
But when Mason glances at me from across the room, I can see it in his face. He’s imagining it too.
* * *
The drive to Mason’s home is barely thirty seconds, but it feels like the air in the truck shifts the moment we pull out of Cody’s driveway.
I lean my head against the seat and let out a sigh, one that I feel like I’ve been holding in all night.
“He was so cute,” I say quietly.
“He was,” Mason agrees, his voice warm, hopeful. “Hopefully we’re next.”
I smile, soft and sad at the same time. “I hope. I might die of jealousy if Addison beats us to it.”
He laughs under his breath, shaking his head. “Yeah, well…we’ll see.”
We pull into his driveway, gravel crunching under the tires. Mason puts the truck in park but doesn’t get out yet.
“His name is cool,” Mason says.
I give him a look of disagreement.
“You don’t like it?”
“It’s too bold,” I admit. “It’s cool, yeah, but…just not my thing.”
“Okay.” He grins, elbow resting on the console. “So, what would you name your son?”
Immediately, I reach for my phone. “I’ve been prepared for this question since I was fourteen,” I announce. “Except being a teacher means I’ve had to cross off half the world.”
Mason laughs. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Micah Brooks,” I say, loud and proud.
“I’m down. That’s good.”
I whip my head toward him. “Really?”
“Yeah. I feel like you don’t hear that biblical name a lot. It’s always Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.”
“Oh, well,” I deadpan, “we could do Methuselah.”
