Page 72 of Capitally Unexpected

“Hold the phone up higher, Hay. I can’t see!” Spencer complains, his face visible on a phone screen. Hayden complies and Spencer gasps. “Oh, look at her,” he coos.

“Laurel told me the first thing I say has to be that she’s pissed at you for going into labor while she’s out of town and flights are canceled,” Jax says, shrugging. “And I’ll add she is absolutely beautiful.”

Michelle laughs and shakes her head. “Here, Hunt, take her for a second? I’ll send Laurel some pictures right now.”

She lays Hope in my arms and my breath catches, like it has every other time I’ve held her this morning. Gathering myself, I walk over to where my brothers, both physically and digitally, stand.

“Hey, guys. I want to introduce you to someone. This is Hope Catherine.”

Four identical gasps, one slightly delayed via phone speaker, fill the room when I say our mom’s name following Hope. I glance behind me and see Jax and Charlotte, arms intertwined,their eyes glistening with unshed tears, while they stand next to Michelle’s bed.

We stand there a moment more, the only audible sounds in the room intermittent sniffles.

Duncan finds his voice first. “It suits her. I know Mom would be thrilled.”

“I think so too,” I say, gazing down at my daughter. There’s a lot that terrifies me about being a father. But I’m certain these people around me, faces so full of love for my little family, will help hold us up and never let me fail.

Epilogue

Michelle

Two weeks later

It’s true what they say. Having a newborn is exhausting. But it’s also exhilarating, life changing, terrifying, and fulfilling. See, exhausted and full of conflicting emotions.

As my brain comes online on Christmas morning, I see Hunter pulled the curtains open when he got up. Rolling to my right, I see the bassinet on my side of the bed is empty. Hunter must have grabbed Hope when he got up, wanting to let me sleep in a bit.

The cloudy skies make it hard for me to tell what time it is. A light snow is falling, and I hear faint sounds of Christmas carols coming from the kitchen. The reports don’t call for a repeat of the snowstorm like the weekend of Hope’s birth, thank goodness. Though, we don’t plan to go anywhere—Hunter’s family is all at his Dad and Margaret’s place in Holly Ridge for the week. We’re scheduled to do a video call with them later in the day.

I roll out of bed, making a quick pit stop in the bathroom to brush my teeth and throw my hair up in some semblance of acontained bun. The smells of breakfast wafting in from the kitchen make my stomach growl. Suddenly I can’t wait to get out to my little family, to kick off this new kind of Christmas Day.

My quick steps are halted when I take in the scene in the kitchen. Hunter has on the same red and green plaid pj pants as the set I’m wearing. But instead of the button-down shirt on top, he has on a white tank top, tattoos on full display. Hope is plastered on his chest in the carrier, and as he turns to grab something from the fridge, I see she’s wearing a bright pink body suit instead of her matching onesie. My heart warms as he moves around the kitchen as effortlessly as before, but now he’s constantly aware of where Hope is and cautious he doesn’t get her close to the hot surfaces.

“What happened out here?” I say, crossing to them and leaning up to accept a kiss from Hunter’s lips before bending to place one on Hope’s head.

“I’m worried your daughter isn’t a fan of Christmas,” he says, his eyes sparkling. “She did an exorcist impression all over my flannel top and her matching onesie.”

“Mydaughterisn’t a fan of Christmas?” I tease, walking into the living room to grab a small, wrapped package from under the tree, setting it on the coffee table. “I seem to remember several favors being promised to coerce you into putting on your matching pj’s.”

He removes a pan from the stovetop and turns to smirk at me. “You’re the one who went to sexual favors immediately upon presenting them to me last night. I would have worn them because you asked, but if you were going to sweeten the pot, who am I to say no?”

I smack him on the ass before grabbing Hope out of the carrier and carrying her to the couch so I can feed her. “Butthead.”

“Christmas-themed butthead,” he calls back. “Do you want to eat in the living room when you’re finished up?”

I unbutton my top and arrange Hope, who latches on almostimmediately. “Yes, please,” I say while gazing down at her adorable face. I’m not producing as much milk as we’d like, so we’re supplementing with formula too. She’s gaining weight at a good pace, and it means we can share the nighttime feeding duty, which I know Hunter is thankful for. He loves middle of the night bonding sessions, resting Hope on his bare chest in the nursery’s rocking chair Margaret got us.

For the next few moments, the only sounds are Hunter serving breakfast, the Christmas carols playing on the smart speaker, and Hope suckling on breakfast of her own. Contentment spreads through my veins. Me from a year ago would never have predicted this is how I’d be spending Christmas this year.

Hunter comes in from the kitchen, plates in hand, and stops next to the coffee table, gazing down at us with a proud smile on his face. “Every time I watch you feed our daughter, I can’t believe this is my life.” Apparently, I’m not the only one being sentimental this morning.

He sets the plates down on the coffee table and heads back for another trip. Hope’s drinking slows and I bring her up to my shoulder to burp her. Seamlessly, Hunter lays a cloth under her head, so my pajamas have a chance of surviving the morning.

I nod to the plates on the coffee table. “Am I completely sleep deprived, or are those waffles shaped like Christmas trees?”

He brings the plate closer for me to examine and I see they are, in fact, Christmas tree waffles. “Found the iron on a middle of the night scroll about a week ago. We better hope this one’s getting a scholarship, because I’m not sure how much college fund will exist by the time she starts sleeping through the night.” His grin lets me know he’s joking—I know for a fact Duncan opened a 529 plan for her the day Hope was born.

“Well, what a festive and fun addition to breakfast,” I say, satisfied Hope’s expelled as much gas as she’s going to. I prop her in the pillow sitting on the couch between us, putting a Christmas waffle on the plate next to the omelet Hunter made, stuffed full of all my favorite things.

---