Page 54 of Erik

He claps, but soon changes his mind. “Ew.”

I draw back with hesitance.

Christine caresses his hair. “Sorry, bug. We know that’s uncomfortable for you, but sometimes we get carried away.”

He frowns, darting his eyes between the two of us, before a light bulb goes off in his head. “I guess I’m okay with the kisses, if it means you’ll always stay with us.”

My throat clogs.

She raises her left hand, pointing to her ring finger where the oval onyx glints. She replies, “Remember the day I got married to your dad?” He nods. “I made a vow. A vow is a promise, a very serious one, we cannot break, ever. You understand?”

His eyes round like dishes. “Yes.”

She grins at him. “I vowed to love you and your dad until the day I die.” Her gaze meets mine. “I never break my promises.”

I kiss his hair. “It’s way past your bedtime, young sir. Let’s get you upstairs.”

I watch her read his favorite book about a naughty boy, and his toy giraffe, as he struggles to keep his heavy eyelids open. She’s slipped into the role of mother with such ease, outsiders think she’s Liam’s birth mom. That never stops to amaze me. She surprises me every day. I smirk thinking about the surprise I’ve arranged for Valentine’s tomorrow.

“The end,” she murmurs, closing the book, and leaning to kiss his forehead. “Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight, buddy,” I kiss his cheek.

He asks me, without opening his eyes, “We’re going to Disneyland tomorrow?”

I tousle his hair. “On the weekend. That’s three days from now. Not tomorrow.”

He pops one eye open. “And you’re going with us again, right?”

“Absolutely.”

I lace my fingers through my wife’s, and we go downstairs. On the ground floor, Caramel jumps on my legs while Penny wiggles her tail at Christine. Both dogs bark at us and turn to the front door. They bark some more before checking the door.

Christine guffaws, smoothing Penny’s hair. “Want to go for a walk? Down in the garden?” She kneels to smooch the dog. “We’ll do that tomorrow, in the sun. It’s too freaking cold now.”

The dogs turn tail and dash toward the kitchen.

I jab a thumb over my shoulder. “I’m going to the basement to work on the new songs. You coming, right?”

“Yes, I’ve been playing with some ideas all day.”

Slumped on a beanbag chair on the corner of the rehearsal room, a legal pad on my knees, I can’t get my eyes off my wife as she tries different notes on the guitar. If I’d known that a whole heart felt this good, I would have married Christine much sooner.

As if sensing my stare on her, she meets my eyes. “Would you go to the store to get me more watermelon?” She plays with a button on the cotton shirt. “Please?”

With a smile so broad the muscles on my cheeks ache, I raise to my feet, stroll to her chair, and cup her non-existent belly. “Craving it again?”

She snickers, “It’s your fault.” She covers my hand with hers, pressing it to herself.

No signs of our baby yet, but her heartbeats mirror mine. Ecstatic.

“Be right back.”

Strumming the guitar, she says, “And I’ll be down here playing.”

Twenty minutes later, I carry a bowl with diced watermelon without seeds and singsong as I take two steps at a time, “Hon, look what I’ve got you.”

Invisible icy fingers run down my spine when I get to the middle of the basement where Christine’s guitar props against the empty chair. I deposit the bowl on the coffee table and swirl to go back up when I catch a glow out of the corner of my eyes. Light escapes the playroom through the ajar door. I knit my eyebrows. We haven’t used it since we found out we were pregnant.

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