Mason grins, brushing the knuckle of his finger against Weston’s little foot. It twitches but his eyes stay closed.
For a few seconds, we just watch the baby and the backyard together, the older toddlers chasing bubbles again now that theyhave access to the grass. Behind us, Cody and Wesley argue about whoactuallywon the game.
It’s loud and a little chaotic, but somehow, it all feels just right.
* * *
The short drive home is quiet. A good quiet. Content, happy-I-went kind of quiet.
Mason’s hand rests over mine on the console, thumb tracing lazy circles. “You have fun?”
“Mm-hmm. You guys were funny to watch. That’s how I imagine it was when you were growing up.”
“For sure, except we’d last a lot longer andactuallyhurt each other.” He laughs.
“Oh, I don’t know, Cody knocked Jesse down pretty good.”
He laughs. “Yeah, that was a good hit.”
Mason cuts the engine when we get home and circles around to open my door.
Inside, it smells clean. I mopped all the floors while Mason made the brownies earlier.
“My back’s gonna be feeling that game tomorrow.” He groans with a stretch.
I laugh. “Don’t get too old on me.”
He smiles and reaches for me, looping his arms around my waist. “Careful, Mrs. Jennings, you’re not too far behind me. We’ll be in our eighties before we know it.”
“I hope you’ll still think I’m cute,” I tease.
He chuckles, presses a kiss to my hair. “You’ll still be the cutest darn thing I’ve ever seen.”
We end up in the kitchen. I pull two glasses from the cabinet, fill them with a little wine, and we sit down on the couch.
“You know…days like today are my favorite. You, me, family, church, eating outside, tackle football with my brothers.”
“Yeah?” I nod. “That’s good.”
“It’s nothing crazy, but it just, I don’t know…feeds my soul.”
“That’s great, honey.”
He looks at me, patting my leg. “Nothing crazy.”
It’s quiet again and then it hits me… He’s right. I don’t need much either. Just him. Our people.
And the quiet ways God reminds me He’s still in everything, even on the simple days.
Nothing crazy.
Chapter 32
Mason - Six Weeks Later
Megan’s already up when I come downstairs, the faint clicks of the coffee maker filling the quiet.
I glance at the clock on the stove. Six forty-two a.m.
