Page 116 of From Maybe to Baby

I ignore them all, focusing on getting changed. But when I finally make it through the locker room gauntlet, the scene in the family room stops me cold.

"We made dinner!" Lukas announces, practically bouncing. "A welcome home dinner!"

"With significant help," Alexa adds quickly, hanging back because all eyes are on us. "Very professional help. Your mother-in-law is actually terrifying in a kitchen. Did you know she has a specific spatula just for folding? Not stirring. Folding."

Gloria. Should have known she'd be involved. Probably had this planned since Alexa's first hint about coming home.

"She brought dessert too," he pipes up. "The special kind that—" He stops, suddenly uncertain about mentioning Genny's favorite.

"The kind Mommy used to make," Alexa says smoothly.

"The team PR wants a statement," Vince interrupts, still glued to his blasted tablet. "Something about family and second chances and?—"

"Tomorrow." I take Jace's hand, watch Alexa automatically grab Lukas's. Some instincts don't need time in Paris to figure out. "Family dinner first."

"Very professional," Alexa murmurs.

"The most professional."

The ride home is a fast one, and while Alexa and I have not had the chance yet for a “proper” greeting, our hands keep brushing up against each other’s, generating more tension than either of us knows what to do with.

The kids march us through their surprise dinner like generals commanding an army. Several of the dishes are decorated with what appears to be edible glitter. Gloria's been busy.

"We helped cook!" Lukas announces proudly. "I made the sauce look like ice!"

"I supervised, but most of it is their brainchild," Gloria assures me, smiling. "Though their creativity with food coloring is... unique."

"Very professional," Alexa agrees, then catches herself using our word. Her cheeks pink up just enough to notice.

The dinner's pure pandemonium—kids too excited to eat, everyone talking over each other, Gloria orchestrating her subtle campaign of blending old memories with new moments, Bert drinking my whiskey. But it works. Like plays that shouldn't connect but somehow do.

Vince keeps texting about press opportunities and PR angles:

ESPN wants an exclusive

Team social media breaking records

City falling in love with the story

But those can wait. Some stories need to play out in their own time.

"I want you," I tell Alexa later, after the kids are finally asleep and Gloria and Bert have gone home. "Not as a replacement. Not as a substitute. Just you, exactly as you are."

"Pandemonium and commitment issues included?"

"Our kind of pandemonium." I pull her closer. "Our kind of story."

Her notebook's still out, covered in Jace’s doodles and what might be the start of her next article. Always the professional. Even when professional flew out the window somewhere between Paris and home.

Some stories write themselves.

Some plays connect without planning.

Some pandemonium makes perfect sense.

Even if the PR team has to work overtime to spin it.

The real estatemarket in San Francisco is brutal, but Alexa attacks it with the same efficiency she uses to analyze five-star hotels. Her spreadsheets are more detailed than my playbooks— school district rankings, commute times to the practice facility, distance to essential amenities. She's even got a column for "hockey practice feasibility" in each backyard.

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