He bobs his chin in a jerky motion. “I can become hyper focused on work or hobbies and on you. I can be rigid, and I like my life that way. I get overstimulated by certain sensory input. I’ve built my life around what I already know works for me. I’d have to find new ways to cope with these things in relation to parenting. And I’d have to want to do it,” he continues, “because a child would deserve that.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I’m so sorry I didn’t think of it that way.”
“Don’t be sorry.” He searches my eyes. “Everyone makes adjustments when they become a parent. The difference is that I’m extremely self-aware of the systems I’ve developed for my life. And I had to decide if I was not just willing to adjust those systems, but eager to change them.”
My breath catches. I don’t move a muscle, afraid I’ll accidentally tip the moment one way or another.
“Today,” he says, “we caught my parents sneaking kisses in closets like teenagers. My sister and her husband carve out time for each other because the world doesn’t hand it to you once you have a family. And then we saw my brother and Sydney letting fear control them.” He exhales slowly. “I don’t want fear deciding for me, Franki.”
He shifts, tugging me tighter to his chest. “You and I adapt and plan. We talk things through. When we screw up, we recalibrate and try again. Parenting wouldn’t change that.”
I swallow. “That’s what I believe.”
He straightens and brushes his thumb over my bottom lip. “I want us to try for a baby. If I have to stay at a job I hate, it just means I’ll have one more person at home to make the rest of it worthwhile.”
The sob I had no intention of letting free rips out of me, and I throw my arms around him, burying my face against his neck.
He rubs my back. “Are these happy tears or sad ones?” he asks carefully.
“Happy,” I say, my voice muffled against his collar.
“I’m running out of clean handkerchiefs,” he muses.
I straighten and cup his face, meeting his eyes. “I’m glad you spent time thinking and didn’t rush it.” I’d wanted him to be all in at the first hint of my interest, but it’s so much better this way.
His brow furrows lightly. “I didn’t want to give you an answer I wasn’t sure was one hundred percent true.”
“I know.” I kiss him once, sweet and sure. “And I love you.”
Voices sound behind us, then a handful of chattering wedding guests turn the corner on the stone path, interrupting our tiny slice of privacy. Henry settles his hands on my waist.
“Is it almost time to go back?” I ask.
Henry glances at his watch. “Yes.”
“It was a beautiful ceremony.”
He nods, his chin resting against my temple. “It wasn’t about a party or impressing people any more than ours was.”
He and I have both attended huge society events where the guest list was about networking and social grandstanding. Those weren’t about supporting a couple’s love or commitment.
“Weddings should be about love and support,” he says simply.
“You do realize most people would be shocked to learn you’re a secret romantic.”
“I make no secret of my priorities.”
I straighten his bow tie, amused affection in my voice. “But you do it with that expression on your face.”
“Acknowledged.” He pauses. “You know what all this means?”
I sigh, warm and relaxed against my sweet Henry. “What does this mean?”
“Lotta hot sex in our near future.” He traces a single finger down my neck and over the upper swell of my breast.
I laugh and lower my voice so no one else can hear. “We already have a lot of sex.”
“Yes, but now it’ll be functional, not just recreational,” he answers sagely.
