“Ilovelove,” Eric sighs whimsically when Sunshine finally finishes going into detail.
“Yeah, it’s the best,” Sunshine agrees, turning a fond gaze my way.
I wink at him, and he blushes, his pale cheeks turning bright pink. Even after all the dirty, salacious, erotic things we’ve done to each other, he still blushes over the simplest things. It’s honestly adorable.
“Well, I'd better get going, Babes,” Ericfinallyannounces. “I don’t want to be late for my flight, so I can jump my sexy as fuck boyfriend.” He makes a lewd gesture and chortles loudly when an old woman with a platter of cookies, walking through the front door, gasps in indignation, clutching at her high neckline.
“It was great seeing you again, Eric!” Sunshine waves cheerfully.
“You too, Sunshine!” Eric says, pausing dramatically as he opens the front door. “And congrats. On everything.” He looks down at Sunshine’s flat stomach before winking in my direction and leaving on that ominous note.
What.
The.
Fuck?
I don’t have time to think about the meaning behind his words because we have a funeral party arriving in an hour, and I still need to get the parlor ready. I push his strange goodbye out of my mind to think about later and start setting up.
Chapter Twenty-four
Sunshine
Approximately Nine Months Later
When I pictured bringing our baby home from the hospital a hundred times over the last six months, I imagined it going differently. In none of the made-up scenarios in my head was Ember trying to carry everything at once like an overeager pack mule.
“Ember,” I say in exasperation. We’re standing on the front porch, and he is struggling to open the door with his hands full. “Give me the diaper bag.”
“I’ve got it, Habibi,” Ember insists stubbornly, hitching said bag higher on his shoulder.
He definitely does not have it.
In one arm, he’s holding the empty baby carrier filled with stolen hospital items. In the other, he has the diaper bag, my hospital bag, balloons from his parents, and a beautiful phoenix flower given to us by my mom and dad.
“You’re going to drop something,” I warn.
“No. I’ve got it.”
The front door opens before he finds the keys, and the house greets us cheerfully with a delightedcreak. Ember gives me a smug smile before stepping through the entryway.
Where the large bundle of balloons immediately gets stuck in the doorway.
“Step one of parenting,” I mutter, gently unhooking the balloons from the door frame, “survive the walk from the car.”
We shuffle inside together, everything quiet, peaceful, and warm. Late afternoon sunlight was slicing across the polished wood floors.
The house greets us with loud creaks and moans as we bring home our baby. I feel my shoulders drop as I relax in our home.
Almost two years ago, I inherited a rundown funeral home with a phoenix problem in the crematorium. Now, the phoenix is my mate, still a problem most of the time, andthe funeral home is our permanent residence and a thriving business.
Our daughter makes a tiny squeaky sound from her place in my arms. Ember gasps like someone set off fireworks in the lobby, scrambling to drop the remaining bags in his arms so he can rush over to look at her.
“She made a noise!” he exclaims.
“Yeah… Babies do that sometimes.”
Our beautiful daughter blinks up at us with wide golden eyes, scrunching her nose adorably as if confused about the two men staring at her in rapt attention.
