Page 21 of Kissing the Boss
He turns in my embrace, Lucy babbling happily between us. "Best name change I ever signed off on."
I rise on tiptoes to kiss him, quick and soft. Lucy immediately pats our faces, demanding inclusion, and we both laugh. Jonathan's free arm pulls me closer, the three of us a tangle of limbs and morning warmth in the kitchen we've made our own.
Our home isn't large, but it's filled with the pieces of us. The bookshelf Jonathan built when my collection outgrew our bedroom. Lucy's toys scattered across every surface. The wooden sign above our sink: "Cox Family Auto Repair. Fixing Everything Since 1956."
Some people thought I was crazy, staying on as the bookkeeper after we got together. But there's something right about it—the rhythm we've found, the easy partnership that flows from home to work and back again. I still bring him muffins on Monday mornings. He still grumbles about my color-coded filing system. But now when we lock up at night, we walk home hand in hand, our daughter waiting with the sitter, our lives woven together so completely I can't imagine any other way.
"Pancakes are burning," I murmur against his chest.
He pulls away with a muttered curse, flipping them just in time. Lucy claps her hands, delighted by the small drama.
"Dada fix," she pronounces solemnly.
"That's right, sweetheart." Jonathan kisses the top of her head. "Daddy fixes things."
My throat tightens unexpectedly at the simple exchange. That's who he is, who he's always been, the man who fixes. Cars, leaky faucets, broken hearts. Mine, specifically.
I reach for Lucy, who comes to me willingly, patting my cheek with sticky fingers. As I wipe maple syrup from her hands, I catch my reflection in the kitchen window—cheeks flushed, curls escaping my messy bun, eyes bright. I look happy. Settled. Like a woman who knows exactly where she belongs.
Three years ago, I drove into Whitetail Falls with everything I owned packed in a Honda that promptly died in the town square. I was running from a life that never fit, searching for somewhere that might. What I found instead was someone.
Lucy squirms to be set down, and I release her, watching as she toddles back toward Jonathan, drawn by the sound of her father's voice. He scoops her up one-handed, his other still flipping pancakes, and I stand transfixed by the simple perfection of it.
This is my life now. This kitchen, this man, this child. This quiet, ordinary morning that somehow holds everything I ever wanted.
We eat together, the three of us, in the warm kitchen filled with morning light. Lucy makes a magnificent mess, naturally, but the joy on her face as she discovers she can dip her pancake in syrup is worth every sticky surface we'll be cleaning later.
"I was thinking," Jonathan says, passing me a napkin for Lucy's face, "we should plant that apple tree this weekend. The one you've been wanting."
"Really? You said spring would be better."
He shrugs, that small lift of his shoulders I've come to recognize as emotional deflection. "Life's short. Why wait for things that matter?"
I reach across the table to squeeze his hand, understanding the deeper current. Jonathan Cox, who once defined himself by the boundaries he set, who thought love was a risk too great to take, now lives by a different code: don't wait, don't hold back, build what matters now.
We learned that lesson together the night I told him I was pregnant, barely six months after we met. The flash of fear in his eyes, quickly replaced by fierce determination. "We'll make it work," he said, hand pressed to my still-flat stomach. "We'll build something good."
And we have.
After breakfast, Jonathan takes Lucy to the living room while I clear the dishes. Through the doorway, I watch them on the floor together, her tiny hands stacking blocks, his large ones steadying the tower when it wobbles. His patience with her never wavers, even when she deliberately knocks everything down with a squeal of delight.
"Again!" she demands, and he rebuilds without complaint.
He catches me watching and smiles—not the guarded half-smile I first knew, but something open and real. "She gets that from you, you know."
"What? Destroying your hard work?"
"The joy in it," he corrects softly. "The starting over."
Something warm unfurls in my chest. Lucy's breathing deepens as she curls against Jonathan's chest, her small body growingheavy with sleep. He gathers her gently, carrying her to the portable playpen by the couch where she still sometimes naps.
When he returns, he takes my hand and leads me toward the back door.
The autumn air is crisp against my skin as we step onto our small porch. Maple leaves crunch beneath our feet, and the distant sound of the Fall Festival setup drifts from Acorn Circle. Another year, another cycle of seasons in Whitetail Falls.
Jonathan's arm slips around my waist, solid and warm. "Happy?"
I lean into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "Completely."
