CHAPTER HUNDRED & EIGHTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER HUNDRED & EIGHTY-SEVEN
 ASHLEY

“Kyle! Why do you keep washing your white clothes with my pink sock?!”

Silence.

Then, from the kitchen, came the muffled sound of a spoon clinking against a mug—followed by the most unapologetic “Huh?” I’d ever heard in my life.

I stormed down the hallway holding the pink-tinted tragedy formerly known as my white crop top.

He was standing by the counter in pajama pants and no shirt, stirring his coffee like a man with no crimes to answer for.

I held up the shirt. “Exhibit A.”

Kyle blinked, sipping. “Oh. That happened?”

My jaw dropped. “That happened? You’ve done this three times, Kyle. This isn’t a mistake anymore—this is a vendetta.”

“It’s not my fault your sock has dye powers,” he said calmly. “Maybe it should come with a warning label. ‘I ruin lives.’”

“It’s a sock, not a nuclear weapon!”

He shrugged and took another sip of coffee, totally unbothered. “We’ve all made laundry mistakes. Remember when you tried to use dish soap in the washing machine?”

“That was one time and we almost drowned in bubbles.”

“And you still married me again,” he said, grinning.

“Clearly I have a thing for reckless men.”

“Laundry rebels, baby. We’re a rare breed.”

I tried to scowl but ended up laughing instead, throwing the shirt over his head. “You owe me a new top.”

“Done,” he said through the fabric. “Can I pick it out? Something cropped. Or sheer. Or—”

“Don’t push it.”

He pulled the shirt off his face and winked. “Worth a try.”

I walked over and snatched a piece of toast from his plate. “You’re lucky you’re hot.”

“Exactly what my ego needed today.”

As I chewed, I looked around at the kitchen we now shared. The half-full coffee mugs. His ridiculous “World’s Okayest Cook” apron. My plants on the windowsill he secretly talks to when he thinks I’m not looking. Everything here screamed us now, in that quiet, lived-in way I used to only dream about.

He leaned back against the counter. “So, what time does Operation Baby Princess begin?”

“Nina’s party starts at two. But Violet will murder us in our sleep if we’re late. So basically, we have to be there by one-thirty sharp.”

Kyle groaned. “Remind me again why Violet gave birth to a tiny dictator?”

“She gets it from you.”

“I resent that. I’ve never worn a tutu in my life.”

I choked on my toast. “You literally wore a tiara at her tea party last week.”

“That was a temporary loss of judgment.”

“You had glitter in your eyebrows for two days.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re very mouthy for someone who begged me to take off work so we could match outfits at this party.”

“I begged? Really?”

He held up his phone and scrolled until he found the message:

Ashley: “Babe, please tell me you’re wearing blush pink. Don’t ruin this aesthetic. It’s not just a party. It’s a theme.”

I gasped. “That was emotional manipulation. And you fell for it.”

“Tragic,” he muttered, sipping his coffee again. “You’ve turned me into a Pinterest husband.”

I kissed his cheek. “And yet, you’re thriving.”

We finally made our way back to the bedroom to start getting ready. I pulled out the outfit I’d laid out for him—soft pink button-up, khaki slacks, and a matching bowtie because Violet said “the dads have to serve.”

“You’re lucky you’re already a dad figure,” I teased.

“To who? Mochii?”

“To Nina! You’re Uncle Kyle now. Officially.”

He looked in the mirror, holding the shirt up to his chest. “I’m going to look like strawberry milk.”

“You’re going to look delicious.”

“I’d rather look dangerous.”

“You can’t be dangerous at a one-year-old’s birthday party. There will be cupcakes and bubble machines.”

He sighed, dramatic as ever. “I’ve fallen so far.”

I smacked his butt on the way to the closet. “You love it.”

Thirty minutes, one curling iron burn, and two outfit changes later, we were finally ready. I was in a pale pink sundress with little floral details and Kyle—bless him—looked like a literal dream in the outfit I picked. Button-up rolled at the sleeves, hair tousled just enough, a soft pink pocket square because Violet demanded fashion excellence.

He stared at me from the doorway while I touched up my lip gloss.

“What?” I asked.

He walked over slowly, like he couldn’t help it. “Just thinking about how last year at this time… none of this felt possible.”

My heart softened instantly.

And because I couldn’t stand how his eyes looked when they went all heart-eyed like that, I reached up and fixed his collar. “It’s possible now.”

“It’s better than possible,” he whispered, kissing my forehead. “It’s real.”

I picked up the giftbag—two little custom onesies that said Born to Rule Like My Mom and I Get My Sass From Aunt Ashley. We added a baby-sized pink leather jacket too because Nina was already cooler than all of us combined.

We were halfway out the door when Kyle stopped suddenly.

“Wait,” he said, stepping in front of me.

I blinked. “What?”

He bent slightly and tied my shoelace, then pressed a kiss to my knuckles. “Just had to get that out of the way.”

I stared. “Where did that come from?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes I remember I used to be stupid and almost lost you, and I just need to do something dumb and romantic to make sure you know I’m still in it. All the way.”

I swallowed hard.

“Let’s go spoil our goddaughter,” I whispered.

He smiled.

We stepped out into the sunshine—hand in hand, in coordinated blush-toned outfits, carrying a bag full of baby glam and hearts that still felt a little too big for our chests.



If there were ever a day that needed its own glitter-covered documentary, it was this one.

We arrived at Nina’s First Birthday Party and were immediately hit with a pastel explosion so intense it could knock out a grown adult.

“Is this... a party or a baby fashion week runway?” Kyle muttered, eyes scanning the rows of coordinated decorations, flower balloons, a cotton candy cart, and a pink-and-gold backdrop that read:
NINA TURNS ONE!
(#PrincessEnergyOnly)

“I told you,” I whispered back. “Violet doesn’t play around.”

“I thought you were exaggerating.”

“You thought wrong.”

The front lawn of Violet and Ryan’s home had been transformed into what I could only describe as a fairytale picnic on sugar steroids. There were teepee tents with baby-safe pillows, a ball pit shaped like a castle, and a literal live harpist playing soft Disney classics like we were in some kind of luxe animated montage.

“Do you see the miniature swans in the fountain?” I whispered.

Kyle looked genuinely horrified. “Are they real?”

“No. But they blink.”

“I don’t trust that.”

Just then, a high-pitched squeal tore through the air, followed by a blur of pink tulle and gold baby shoes barreling toward us.

“Ninaaaaaa!” I crouched down just in time for the tiny tornado of curls and chaos to crash into my arms.

“Hi, muffin!” I said, lifting her. “You look like a literal cupcake.”

She grinned, all four of her baby teeth on proud display.

Kyle leaned over and tapped her nose. “You’ve got frosting on your forehead already. Iconic behavior.”

She smacked his cheek with a sticky hand and giggled. He just wiped his face and sighed like a man who knew better than to fight the tiny royalty.

“Where’s Violet?” I asked, glancing toward the house.

As if summoned by name, Violet emerged from the front door wearing a matching pink wrap dress and carrying a tray of mini scones like she was hosting tea with the Queen.

She spotted us and shrieked. “You’re late!”

“We’re fashionably on time,” I said, hugging her with one arm while balancing Nina on my hip.

“You missed the balloon release and Ryan’s meltdown over the unicorn cake.”

“I did not melt down,” Ryan called from the back, holding what looked like a decapitated cake horn. “I simply said, ‘why does the cake have eyelashes.’”

“Because she’s a unicorn,” Violet snapped.

“She’s a cake,” he muttered.

Kyle turned to me, whispering, “They’re going to be us in ten years.”

“I can’t wait,” I whispered back.

Nina was wriggling in my arms now, so Kyle reached out, and she practically leapt into his hands. “Hey, cupcake,” he murmured, bouncing her gently. “You ready for chaos?”

She giggled and tried to eat his button.

“You think she knows we brought presents?” I asked.

“She’s got radar for it. Baby intuition. She’s already plotting.”

We handed off the gift bag to Violet—who squealed over the pink leather jacket like it was made of diamonds—and then Kyle and I found seats under the flower-draped pergola where soft jazz was playing and toddlers were making dangerous alliances in the sandbox.

“Okay,” I said, looking around. “This is either a birthday party or a very soft cult.”

Kyle smirked. “Should we start the ritual? Sacrifice a juice box or two?”

Just then, Nina launched a cupcake across the table and it hit Kyle square in the chest.

He blinked.

I burst out laughing. “You’ve been chosen.”

“She’s officially my goddaughter now,” he deadpanned. “The sugar baptism is complete.”

Violet ran over with baby wipes and an apology that was not at all apologetic. “She only does that to people she loves.”

“I feel... honored?” Kyle said, trying to clean frosting off his shirt with a wipe and zero dignity.

“She got Ryan in the ear earlier,” Violet said, proud. “We think it’s a thing.”

As the party continued, Nina smashed her cake, Ryan cried a little over the mess, and Violet took approximately eight hundred photos. Kyle and I danced once to the harpist’s version of A Whole New World, and I think my heart might’ve grown three sizes when I caught him twirling Nina around in circles like she was the only thing that mattered in the universe.

“Is it weird that this feels… like peace?” I said later, sipping lemonade while he rested his arm around my shoulder.

“Not weird,” he murmured. “It’s rare. And I don’t plan to waste it.”

I leaned into him. “You’re getting soft.”

“You’re ruining my reputation.”

“You lost your reputation the moment you said yes to blush pink.”

“I said yes to you,” he corrected.

And even though we were sitting in a backyard full of tiny humans screaming about bubbles and juice, I swear—for that one second—it was just us again.

No past. No shadows.

Just home.

And Nina throwing another cupcake at Ryan.