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“She’s so little!” He looks up at me and gives me a toothy grin. “And so soft!”
“You were, too!” Daphne tells him with a kiss to his cheek. “So cute and tiny.”
Gentry scrunches his nose. “Nah. Not me.”
As everyone shares a laugh at his innocence, I can’t help but watch the way he holds Taty. He looks like Jameson. That stubborn chin.
What will Tatyanna look like when she’s a little older? What will she look like when she’s holding her baby brother or sister?
I damn near drop the glass in my hand.
I can’t believe I just considered—without hesitation—having another baby.
But watching Daphne with Gentry and Tatyanna only solidifies this idea in my mind until it becomes a goal in my heart. And my loins.
I want more kids with her.
I’m going to have more kids with her.
My hands sneak their way around her waist and I tuck her in closer to me. “I decided something,” I murmur in her ear.
“Oh?” She turns her head to squint at me. Her plump lips curve in a warm smile. “And what is that?”
“I’m going to put another baby in your belly.”
Her teeth scrape over her bottom lip just a little. Those lashes flutter again. But then she laughs and nudges me away. “You’re insane.”
“I’m serious.” I nip her lobe so she knows I’m telling the truth. “The second you’re good to go, I’m taking you to bed. You won’t be able to walk for a week. But when you do, you’ll have another baby. And I know you want it, too.”
She does. There’s no denying the slight wiggle of her hips against me, the sharp intake of breath.
Daphne composes herself, rolls her eyes, and laughs it off. I let her. We have guests, after all, so I really should behave myself.
Nothing is going to change my mind, though.
And she knows it.
25
DAPHNE
“Everything okay?” I ask. “You keep checking your phone.”
“I keep thinking this is just a dream,” Hazel says. “Or some ginormous bill is gonna hit and all that money will be gone.”
My worry eases. “Well, you earned it. Lord knows you deserve it.”
“I still can’t believe it, though. All these years, those two assholes couldn’t give me more than a nickel for a raise each year.” She sips her own coffee for a moment, lost in thought. “Now, they’re gone, Aubrey Day is in like an absolute queen, and whoever owns the place apparently thinks I’m worth way more than even I do.”
“Oh, hush. You’re always so hard on yourself.”
Hazel waves a dismissive hand. “What do I do? I curate art. I suck up to pretentious artists who vomit paint in the general direction of a canvas and expect bajillionaires to throw money at them. I’m not exactly changing the world here.”
“I’d argue that you are.” When she lifts a skeptical brow at me, I swallow back another large sip and try to tell the butterflies in my stomach to calm the hell down. I haven’t told her about the gallery’s new ownership yet.
I’d say I don’t know why, but I do.
She’s still trying to absorb the fact that she’s making six figures now instead of five. I’m still trying to absorb the fact that I own the place—and could make that happen.
