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Mac leaned forward, choosing his words carefully. “I would be your real dad in all the ways that matter. I would be there for you and take care of you. What is mine becomes yours. But I would never try to replace David, your father. He’ll always be part of who you are.”

Noah considered this solemnly. “But you’d be my dad who’s here?”

“Yes,” Mac said. Emotion made his voice unsteady. “I would be your dad who’s here.”

“Would I call you Dad?” Noah’s forehead creased in concentration.

“Only if you wanted to,” Mac assured him. “You could keep calling me Mackie. Whatever feels right to you.”

Noah was quiet for a long moment, his young face pensive. Then, with decisiveness he said, “I think I’d like to call you Dad.”

Something shifted inside Mac’s chest, a strange, terrifying, wonderful sensation. “I’d like that very much,” he managed to say. “But only if you’re completely sure.”

“I’m sure,” Noah said. With the natural physicality of children, he tucked his small hand into Mac’s larger one.

Mac stared down at their joined hands, overwhelmed by the simple gesture. His thumb brushed against Noah’s knuckles, and he marveled at how small they were, and how perfectly they fit within his palm.

Chapter 23

The morning sun filtered through the kitchen curtains as Kelsey juggled a travel mug of coffee and Noah’s nearly forgotten lunch box. Mac stood at the counter, spreading peanut butter on bread with practiced movements.

“Noah! Five minutes!” Kelsey called up the stairs while reaching to take over the lunch making from Mac.

“I’ve got it,” Mac said, slipping the sandwich into a bag. “You finish your coffee before it gets cold.”

Kelsey paused, coffee halfway to her lips. “Thanks. I’m still not used to having help in the morning.”

Mac glanced up with a half-smile. “I’m not sure making PB&J qualifies as real help.”

The thunder of small feet on the stairs announced Noah’s arrival. He skidded into the kitchen, backpack hanging off one shoulder, hair still damp from his shower.

“Mom! I can’t find my permission slip for the aquarium field trip!” Noah’s voice carried the urgent desperation of a panicked seven-year-old in the morning rush.

“Check your homework folder,” Kelsey said, taking a quick sip of coffee. “The blue one.”

“I did! It’s not there!”

Mac zipped the lunch bag closed after adding some fruit and a granola bar. “Try the side pocket of your backpack. That’s where it was yesterday when you showed it to me.”

Noah’s face brightened. He dropped his backpack to the floor and unzipped the side pocket. “Found it!”

“Shoes,” Kelsey reminded him and checked her watch. “Quickly, please. We’re running late.”

“I’m ready, I’m ready,” Noah insisted, though he was clearly not. He shoved his feet into untied sneakers while simultaneously trying to stuff the permission slip into his folder.

Mac knelt down. “Here, buddy. Let me tie those while you fix your papers.”

Noah automatically extended his foot, and the unconscious trust in the gesture made something catch in Mac’s chest. Two weeks of marriage, and already these small intimacies had become routine.

“What time’s your first appointment?” Mac asked, double-knotting Noah’s laces.

“Ten thirty. I have a staff meeting at the clinic before hitting the road.” Kelsey gathered her nursing bag. “I’ll be at Truman’s around one. Should we still plan to meet for lunch?”

“Perfect. I’m heading over there now, but I’ll stick around. And I can pick up lunch for all of us from the café with those turkey sandwiches he likes.”

“Guys,” Noah interrupted, “we’re gonna be late!”

“Right you are, Captain,” Mac said, rising to his feet. “Your chariot awaits.”