“Dinosaur bones, then. At a museum.”
Faye laughs. “We can go anywhere in the world you want.”
I smirk to myself because she doesn’t mean it figuratively—perks of dating a billionaire.
In the past year, we’ve had frank conversations about money. About what she can afford and what I can’t. If we’re going to be a family, we both want to give Rhys and our possible future kids experiences neither of us had growing up—and her wealth makes that possible in ways my income doesn’t. She’s not keeping score, and I’m not overthinking it.
We’re building a life where money is a topic, not a fault line, and the real balance comes from trusting and choosing each other every day.
Faye’s gaze finds mine over Rhys’s shoulder, full of an emotion I don’t have words for—words are too small for this thing between us.
I see the past year in that look. Our stolen evenings. The careful distance we had to keep in public. The ache of not being able to reach for each other at the fun farm or any of the other million places where we’ve stolen hours together—sometimes minutes. The weight of loving both of them and trying to do right by a kid who’d already lost too much.
It was all worth it.
For this moment.
I move closer and wrap my arms around both of them, pulling them against me. Rhys is sandwiched between us, giggling.
“Dad, you’re squishing me!”
“Too bad.” I tighten my hold. “We’re a squishing family now. You’d better get used to it.”
He wriggles free, still laughing, and announces, “I’m going to look for catfish before you guys become weirder.”
He takes off down the dock, peering over the edge at the water below.
Faye and I stand shoulder to shoulder, watching him go.
“That went better than expected,” she murmurs. “He could’ve cried or run away or asked us to never speak again.”
“Instead, he got a mom, sleepovers, unlimited vacations, and called us weird.” I slide my arm around her waist. “Best-case scenario.”
She tips her head back to look at me. “Our kid is a smartass.”
The words land somewhere behind my ribs and lodge there permanently.
“Yeah,” I manage, my voice rough. “He is.”
Faye cups my cheek, thumb brushing over my jaw. “You okay?”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
Because I’m more than okay.
I’m whole in a way I haven’t been since before Abigail left. Since before I learned what it meant to be abandoned.
But Faye didn’t leave. Despite every reason I gave her to run—the baggage, the complications, my stubborn temper—she stayed. She fought for me. For us.
And now she’s calling my son ours, making plans for vacations and sleepovers and a future I didn’t think I deserved.
“I love you,” I tell her.
“I love you too.”
I kiss her. Public and reckless and full of promises I intend to keep.
When we pull apart, Rhys is crouched at the edge of the dock, one hand trailing in the water.
