Page 187 of We Drank the Dawn

He pressed a kiss to my forehead.

“Hate to break up your moment, but can y’all turn around?” Cooper asked.

Laughing, Peter and I turned to face Cooper and he directed us through a couple of poses and things he wanted us to try, stumbling over his words the entire time. Clearly he felt awkward, but the fact that he was trying for us was so sweet and special. “I think I’ve got the light settings good,” he murmured as he fiddled with the lens, his hands trembling just a little. “Kiss her or something.”

Gladly obliging, Peter ran one hand down my thigh and grabbed behind my knee, lifting it to his hip then leaned into me, bracing my back with the other hand. Naturally, I arched into the curve of his body as he swept his lips over mine.

Rapid-fire shutters staccatoed the beats of silence.

I threw my heart into the kiss, wondering how good it made for a picture, but honestly not really caring. If Peter was going to dip me in a kiss right in front of a sunrise, who was I to hold back?

“Alright.” Cooper’s voice was flat, annoyed. “You can stop now.”

Peter smiled against my lips, and the camera clicked. By the time I pulled my eyes back to the sky, the twilight had all but disappeared—the dark blues now light. The purple now orange and yellow. And when the edge of the sun peeked over the horizon, I stood in rapt awe.

It was so huge, so close. Or maybe my perspective had somehow shifted.

My eyes fluttered closed as I let the sun wash over my face.

Even in the darkness, the light stretched on, unfurling from the inside out—intrinsic.

“Peter?”

“Yes?”

“I think…” Hot tears grabbed my throat. “I think I can finally catch it.”

A sharp breath pulled into his lungs at my call back to our beginnings. “You sure? It’s a long way. I might have to take you higher.”

“I don’t think that’s possible. I’m the highest I’ve ever been.” A tear leaked onto my cheek. “Will you hold me while I reach?”

His voice hitched as he whispered over my ear. “You know I will, Sunshine Girl.”

Slowly, I raised my hands above my head and went all the way to my tiptoes while Peter gripped my waist, anchoring me in a way only he could.

And Cooper snapped a picture.

EPILOGUE

One year later

Iinched his office door open, army crawling over the carpet. Based on how his computer camera was situated, I knew his client wouldn’t see me coming into the room. But, given my current state, I would take no chances.

His client droned on and on. “You kids have no problem-o, but I am struggling with all the technology. Why can’t things be just pen and paper anymore?”

I rolled my eyes. That seemed like an insensitive thing to say to a CPA who wasn’t able to read plain old pen and paper, but most of Peter’s clients had no clue he was blind. So I had to cut the old man some slack.

“Yep. I totally get that. There’s definitely a learning curve.” If Peter was aware I entered the room, his voice gave no indication. My eyes flicked up to my husband, quickly soaking in his professional attire—a light blue oxford, black slacks, and a black tie.

When we returned to Colorado last November, Peter took on a client, easing in slowly. But then Chip offered him another and another, until he was back to working a full schedule. His income blessed my tired bones and allowed me to downshift my schedule to a much more sustainable pace, providing me some much-needed time to relax, binge parenting books, and decorate the nursery.

IVF went well. Before we even began, Peter and I agreed to attempt implantation of every viable embryo. We were a bundle of nerves as we waited to hear the results because we had no idea if that commitment would mean many or just a few.

But we got four.

Four.

Oh, the way I wept when they told us. I knew that didn’t necessarily guarantee we’d be a family of six one day. But the opportunity to try was everything I’d ever wanted. Peter put a heavy emphasis on my health as we embarked on our journey, so I joined a wellness club, rested plenty, and carefully managed my stress levels.