Esme and Franklin renewed their vows that day even though they were still newlyweds.
I still remember the way Hunter looked at me when I walked down the aisle, like I was everything he’d been waiting for. My gown was white, but my lingerie? That sage green that he loves so much on me.
“You okay?” Hunter’s hand finds my knee under the table, his thumb tracing circles through my comfy trousers.
“Perfect.” I lean into him, and he kisses my temple.
Hadley squeals again, and I look over to see her with mashed potatoes in her bright red hair. Linda’s laughing, and Piper’s narrating the video like a sports announcer. We’re sending it to our surrogate later, who is happily in her fourth pregnancy with her third child.
“That’s definitely going in the baby book.” Piper is the happiest aunt.
“Everything goes in the baby book with you.” Hunter steals a roll from my plate. Gotta feed his lumberjack metabolism, I suppose. “You’ve taken more pictures of Hadley than I’ve taken in my entire life.”
“Someone has to document her childhood. You’re always covered in sawdust.”
“Fair point.”
I watch Hunter reach over and wipe potatoes from Hadley’s face with his napkin. She grabs his finger and tries to put it in her mouth, and he lets her, grinning like the besotted father he is.
This man who lost his first wife while they were trying to start a family. This man who thought he’d never want kids again. This man who’s now teaching our ten-month-old daughter to clap and building her a treehouse she won’t be able to climb for years.
Hadley Jenna Ashe. We named her after the woman who came before me. When I suggested it, Hunter pulled me close and cried into my shoulder. He said Jenna would’ve loved her, would’ve been happy he found love again. I never met her, but she shaped the man sitting beside me, and that makes her part of our family’s story.
My chest tightens with how much I love him.
“Claire?” Linda’s watching me with knowing eyes. “More green beans?”
“I’m good, thank you.” I glance around the table—Linda at the head, Piper and Luke on one side, Hunter and me and Hadley on the other. My parents couldn’t make it this week, but they’ll be here next month. Sunday dinners have become our routine, rotating between Hunter’s mom’s house and ours. “Everything’s delicious.”
“You say that every week.”
“Because it’s true every week.”
Hadley starts fussing, and I know that sound. Tired and overstimulated and ready for bed. I unbuckle her from the high chair and lift her out, settling her against my chest. She immediately burrows into my neck, her little fist grabbing my shirt.
“Someone’s ready to go home,” Hunter says.
“It’s past her bedtime.” I sway slightly, that automatic movement every parent learns. “We should probably head out.”
Piper pouts. “But I didn’t get to do tummy time with her.”
“You did tummy time with her for twenty minutes before dinner.”
“That’s not enough tummy time.”
Hunter stands, starts clearing plates. “You can come over Wednesday after work if you want more baby time.”
“Done.” Piper’s already texting herself a reminder.
We help clean up despite Linda’s protests, then bundle Hadley into her car seat. The November air is crisp and cold, stars bright overhead. Hunter loads the diaper bag while I buckle Hadley in, and by the time we’re on the road, she’s already asleep.
“Your mom’s going to turn her into a terror,” I say quietly.
“Too late. She already is.” Hunter reaches over, laces his fingers through mine on the console between us. “But she’s our terror.”
“Yeah, she is.”
We drive in comfortable silence, the kind that comes from three years of knowing each other inside out. The road winds through the hills, dark except for our headlights, and I think about the last time we drove this route together.
