Page 124 of Yes No Maybe

“Says the woman who’s changed her clothesagain.” His lips curve into a smile as he kisses me. “It’s okay to be nervous. I’m sure he is. You look gorgeous.”

What begins as a peck deepens as he lingers. A familiar heat rises between us that time hasn’t softened. Rather, it’s grown more intense—wearealways desperate for each other.

Even so, he breaks away. “I almost forgot… I have something for you.”

He dashes across the kitchen, pulling a wrapped box and a bouquet from the pantry. With a giddy grin, my high-energy husband practically jumps over the couch to present the gifts.

My words from ages ago filter through my thoughts.That’s how you’ll know…when you want to buy a woman flowers.And that’s what he’s done every week since. No plastic-wrapped gas station roses, either. He drives thirty minutes to a wholesale distributor and handpicks the arrangement. Although I’ve told him a thousand times that he doesn’t need to go through the trouble, the flowers keep coming, and I adore it. It’s another one of ourthings.

Today’s bouquet is an understated arrangement that fits easily in my hand, short-stemmed, and tightly wrapped in brown paper. Deep purple Gerber daisies and sprigs of lavender create an artful contrast to bright orange lilies and bold yellow mums. I lean into the blossoms, catching their soft scents.

“They’re beautiful. You may have missed your calling.”

“I’m only a florist for you. It’s one of many services I provide.”

As I laugh, he tugs the flowers from my hand and gives me the box. I open the lid to find the second edition ofLove Storyby Dominic Martinez, Julio’s grandfather and a classroom favorite for sharing during our Inspiration Project years ago. Thanks to Jack’s influence with his publishing company, the first edition came out over a year ago, launching Mr. Martinez’s late-in-life career as a great American poet. This new edition features Hispanic artists to tell his story in art alongside his words.

“It’s an ARC.” He grins.

“No annotating, then. It’s… breathtaking.”

Jack opens the hardcover to reveal a message scribbled on the title page.Rowan, To teach is to love. And love is a gift. Always Give, Dom.

A tearful sputter emerges as my fingers trace his message. “A signed ARC… Thank you, Jack.”

His arms wrap around me, smushing the book between us. “You’re my favorite person.”

“But what about Mario?”

The doorbell interrupts our sweet giggling moment. Our eyes meet, and we take a simultaneous breath as our nerves rise again.

Jack leans in, resting his head against mine. “I will love you forever, Rowan.” His words come slowly, in a whisper.

“And it won’t be long enough,” I finish with a kiss. “I have something for you, too. Later.”

His brow peeks in interest, but the doorbell chimes again, luring us to the door. I expect Mira, but it’s Mom and Reggie, carrying tote bags and iffy expressions.

“I couldn’t wait.” Mom pushes inside.

“The more, the merrier,” Reggie spouts cheerfully, following behind her. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Jack and I share a glance—Mom showing up on a whim has become a welcome norm since she and Reggie married and moved to Wrightsville.

“Ah, Mario,” Reggie observes, motioning toward the TV screen. “Excellent idea.”

Jack jumps into his previous question with someone who clearly is better informed to give him an opinion while I meet Mom in the kitchen. She sorts through the totes on the expansive island, pulling out everything from chocolate chip cookies to Legos to three different types of apples.

“What’s all this? Did you raid Target?” I reach for a vase and fill it with water.

She sighs, her shoulders bobbing. “I got a little carried away.”

“Definitely. We have groceries… and toys. We even have flowers.” I set the arrangement in the middle of the island.

“Yes, but you heard what Mira said. He’s had it rough, and he’ll be here a while. We should do extra to make him feel at home.”

I couldn’t fault her logic, though I worry he might find us overwhelming. Since we finished construction, teenagers like Sara have come and gone from the Mackey-Graham household. Some stay only a week or two before relatives step in. Others stay a few months as their parents sort themselves out. We consider ourselves a haven for teenagers in transition.

But Mom’s right—Adam is different. For one thing, he’s not a teenager but a child—the youngest we’ve fostered. Rescued from an abusive household with charges pending against his parents, Adam isn’t in transition but recovery with a long road of healing ahead of him. He’ll likely be here for the rest of his childhood—we expect,hope,that fostering leads to adoption.

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