Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 19364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 97(@200wpm)___ 77(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 97(@200wpm)___ 77(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
“What rules?” Rory asks, suspicious already.
Margie points to the doorway that leads into the kitchen. Hanging over the threshold is a ridiculous bouquet of fabric hearts tied together with ribbon. Pink, red, glittery—everything Rory and every other woman in this town loves.
“That,” Margie says sweetly, “is the heart bouquet. Works just like mistletoe.”
Rory’s eyes widen. “Margie—”
“House rule,” Margie adds. “Anyone who passes under it gets kissed.”
The kids immediately lose their minds.
“Ooooh!”
“Kiss!”
“Again!”
Rory turns to me, mock glare in place, but her mouth is already twitching. “You planned this.”
“I didn’t,” I say honestly. Then grin. “But I’m not mad about it.”
She takes one step toward the kitchen and stops right under the hearts. Deliberate. Challenging.
“Well?” she says. “You gonna follow the rules, firefighter?”
I don’t hesitate.
I slide my hand to her waist, feel her lean into me without thinking, and kiss her slow and deep, right there in front of everyone. Not for show. Not for spectacle. Just because kissing my wife still feels like coming home.
She sighs into my mouth.
Then she freezes.
Her fingers tighten in my shirt. Her breath stutters.
I pull back instantly. “Red?”
She blinks up at me, confused, then winces.
“Oh,” she says. “Okay. That’s… new.”
My heart jumps straight into my throat. “What’s new?”
She presses a hand to her belly. “That. That was definitely—”
Her face tightens again. She gasps.
Margie’s smile vanishes. “Is that a contraction?”
Rory looks between us. Then nods. “I think so.”
The room explodes.
Someone shouts. A chair scrapes. Kids are ushered away. Axel is already moving, phone out. Ash swears under his breath.
I scoop Rory up without thinking.
“Hospital,” I say. “Now.”
She laughs breathlessly, even as another wave hits. “Of course this happens on Valentine’s Day.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” I mutter, already moving.
The drive to Devil’s Peak General is a blur of white roads and adrenaline. Rory grips my hand hard enough to bruise, breathing through contractions like the absolute warrior she is.
“You okay?” I ask for the hundredth time.
She glares at me. “I’m in labor with twins, Dax. Define okay.”
I grin despite myself. “You’re doing great.”
“Don’t say ‘great,’” she snaps. Then groans. “Say ‘almost there.’”
“Almost there,” I promise.
Two hours later, I’m standing in a hospital room that smells like antiseptic and miracles, holding two impossibly small humans against my chest.
A boy. A girl.
They’re bundled tight, faces pink and scrunched, making tiny sounds that feel like they’re rewiring my entire soul.
Rory lies back against the pillows, exhausted, glowing, eyes soft with that look that still floors me.
“You okay?” she whispers.
I nod, throat thick. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve got them.”
She smiles. “Meet your dad,” she murmurs to the babies. “He’s been in love with us forever.”
I bend and kiss her forehead, careful, reverent, overwhelmed.
“You,” I say quietly, voice rough. “You and them… this family. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
She reaches for my hand, squeezes it weakly but sure. “Told you that song was prophetic.”
I laugh, tears blurring my vision, and look down at our kids—our perfect, unexpected Valentine’s.
The best thing.
Forever and always.
The End