Page 43 of The Hang Up
“The biggest.”
She throws her arms around my neck and presses a sticky kiss to my cheek. “I love you, Mama.”
“I love you, too, bug.”
Holden walks over, brushing his hand across the small of my back as he reaches for the bottle of water on the counter.
“She wore me out.”
I grin up at him. “You’re the one who taught her how to dance like that.”
“She inherited your stubbornness.” He smirks before taking a long sip.
“She inherited your dimples,” I shoot back.
We lock eyes and laugh.
It’s always been like this between us, easy, playful, and real. But now, with five years of marriage under our belt, a little girl with his eyes and my sass, and another baby due in less than two months, it feels even deeper, like we finally made it to the good part.
Hazel wiggles in my arms. “I wanna bake!”
I smile softly. Baking with Hazel always reminds me of baking with my dad when I was a kid. I like to think he’s smiling down on us each time we do it.
“Not tonight, sweet pea. It’s bedtime.”
“Awww.” She pouts dramatically, lower lip wobbling.
Holden leans in and kisses it. “You can help Mama tomorrow at the bakery.”
She perks up. “Okay!”
We get her ready for bed together, brushing teeth and reading the same book we’ve read a thousand times. Holden does the silly voices, and I smooth Hazel’s hair while she giggles.
When our daughter is finally asleep, snuggled beneath the soft quilt Arlowe made for her, we tiptoe out of the room and close the door behind us.
Holden wraps his arms around me from behind, pressing a kiss to the curve of my neck. “She’s magic,” he murmurs. “Just like her mom.”
My heart melts. “You’re just saying that because I’m pregnant and emotional,” I tease, leaning into his warmth.
“I’m saying it because it’s true.”
We make our way back to the kitchen to clean up. We’ve made this place a home in the last few years. Holden is still a woodworker and spends half of his days in his shop out back, and the other half wherever Hazel and I are. It’s the perfect routine.
“I’ll get that,” he tells me as he pours us both a glass of lemonade.
I smile, lowering myself carefully onto the couch. My back aches, and my ankles are already starting to swell. It’s been a long day at the bakery, but a good one.
I opened my own place two years ago. The Sugar Nest. It’s tucked right in the heart of downtown, two blocks from Clay & Cupcakes. Auden and Arlowe helped me design the front window display. Holden built the counter and shelving by hand. It smells like vanilla and sweet dreams the second you walk in, and most days, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.
I still help at Clay & Cupcakes, but I also love having a place that we built, that’s just ours. Holden calls it my baking empire, and I love the sound of that.
Business is good.
Life is even better.
“Are you okay?” Holden asks, crouching in front of me and setting the lemonade on the coffee table. His hand rests gently on my knee, his eyes searching mine.
I nod, brushing a stray curl from my face. “Just tired.”
