Page 140 of The Pucking Date
But he’s not done. He briefly looks to my stomach.
“This isn’t how I pictured it for you. No ceremony, no announcements, no neat timeline. But life’s messy.” A pause. “And these babies,” his words soften just slightly, “they’re still a blessing. No matter how they got here.”
Wai Po raises her eyebrows. “As ifyoudid it differently?”
Dad snorts. Mom doesn’t even looking up from her plate, but a knowing smile appears on her face.
Finn leans toward me, confused. “Wait, what are we talking about?”
I stab a piece of bok choy and mutter, “Nothing. I’ll explain later.”
Finn slides his hand under the table, finding mine. His thumb brushes over my knuckles, slow, steady, grounding.
I glance at him, and he gives me that look, the one that sayswe made it. And for the first time in a long time, I believe it.
The house hums around us with laughter rolling from one end of the table to the other. My family. My future. My beautiful chaos and quiet calm.
It’s not perfect.
But it’s real.
And it’s ours.
EPILOGUE
DATE NIGHT 2.0
Jessica
I haven’t laced up my skates in nearly a year. Not since my center of gravity shifted, my ankles swelled, and my sports bras started begging for mercy.
But here I am, on the bench of the Defenders’ practice rink, tying the last knot with slightly shaky fingers and trying not to overthink the part where I gave birth to twins just seven weeks ago. They held out till thirty-seven weeks, then came barreling into the world—Aidan Wen, feet first and dramatic as hell, with Maeve Li sliding in right after, headfirst and ready to lead.
Finn watches from the edge of the ice, looking like a man seconds from sin.
“Stop staring,” I call, voice echoing off the boards.
“Not a chance,” he says, eyes hot, mouth curving. “You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in fleece-lined tights.”
I roll my eyes. “There’s literally a nursing bra under here.”
He steps closer, gaze dragging over me like it’s a full-body caress. “You think I don’t fantasize about that bra? Red, I’ve had dreams where that thing deserved its own jersey number.”
I laugh, standing slowly. My legs feel strong, but not quite mine yet. I place one gloved hand on the dasher and take a steadying breath.
“Remind me why we’re here again?” I ask, adjusting my balance.
He skates over, slow and easy, then holds out his hand. “Because you said you missed this. And because we finally got the grandparents to agree to two hours without texting us updates about diaper output.”
He’s not wrong.
We kissed the babies goodbye. Mom took them with military precision. My dad checked the car seat straps three times. And Wai Po shoved a tin of herbal rice balls into Finn’s hand like she thought he’d burn 3,000 calories just from thinking about sex.
“Come on, Novak,” he says, his palm warm through the glove. “Let’s go make this rink ours.”
I take his hand and step onto the ice. The first glide feels foreign.
Not bad, just…wacky. My muscles remember what to do quickly, but the rhythm is still off. My core’s still catching up to reality, and the center of gravity isn’t where I left it. But Finn’s right there, steadying me with one hand on my waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
