His mouth twitches.
“Anywhere you go, I’ll follow.”
The way he says it—teasing but serious—sends a little ripple through me.
“Kelly?Well, look who you brought with you!J.T., it’s nice to see you,” Willow calls from the porch.
She’s glowing.Positively radiant in that unique way only pregnant women have.
One hand is braced at the small of her back, the other is shielding her eyes from the sun.
Her overalls hang loose over her baby bump, pink tank stretched sweet and round beneath them.
Domestic.Happy.Perfect for my baby brother.
I glance down at myself—capri pants, worn sandals, a simple green T-shirt.
My hair is in a low ponytail, and I have on little makeup save for a little mascara and Chapstick.
This is the real me.
Not the wrap dress from the gala.
Not the smoky-eyed woman from Friday night.
Just Kelly.
For a second, insecurity prickles.
Is this enough?
For him?
J.T.doesn’t notice my sudden insecurities.
He carries the cradle up the steps like it weighs nothing, deposits it carefully in the mudroom where Thatcher’s laid out newspaper and tools.
He doesn’t rush.
Doesn’t just plop it down on the floor.
He treats it like it matters.
Like my family history matters.
“Oh, it’s so perfect,” Willow says, eyes misting as she runs her hand along the carved wood.
I hug her because pregnancy hormones are real and powerful, and I get it.
“Oh, look at me carrying on,” she laughs through a sniffle.“How about some iced tea?It’s all set up on the table outside.”
“Sounds great,” J.T.answers easily.“Can I help carry anything out?”
“Nope, Thatch already did it.Ooh—I have to use the bathroom, but I’ll meet you out there!”she calls, waddling off with determination.
I shake my head, smiling.
Then I turn to head toward the yard—and something tugs me back.
