Page 73

"Is that Charlie?" Paisley's voice cuts through the kitchen before we've even gotten our boots off. Always a baby lover, she moves like a woman on a mission. Her hair's still in the braid she probably slept in. Before I can get a word out, she reaches out and lowers the blanket. "Oh my gosh, she's perfect. Mom said she was a little doll!"

"Paisley, give them a second to breathe," Ava calls from the stove, though she's already abandoning the eggs to get a look for herself, wiping her hands on a dish towel as she crosses the kitchen. At thirty-five, Ava's got the particular older-sister authority that makes even Dad straighten up sometimes. She plants herself in front of me, studying Charlie's face like she's cataloging every feature for later.

Her eyes flick from Charlie to me, then to Lainey, then back to me again. Slow understanding settles across her face. "Jagger?"

The kitchen doesn't go quiet exactly. The radio's still humming under everything, but every conversation within earshot slows down half a step, waiting. Dad puts his fork down. Mom keeps her hand on her coffee mug. Mason sits back in his chair, arching his eyebrows with a cocky smirk.

I settle my hand at the small of Lainey's back. "We wanted all of you to meet our daughter, Charlie."

For a solid three seconds, the only sound is the radio, which might be a family record.

Mason whistles. "Well I'll be damned."

"Mason!" Mom reprimands.

He chuckles.

"You find this funny, young man?" Lainey's mama interjects.

Mason sits up straight. "No, ma'am. Sorry."

She glares harder at him until his face turns red.

Mom rises and carefully approaches us. She takes off the pink hat and rubs the side of her thumb over Charlie's hair, softly stating, "Jagger Cartwright, why am I just learning about my grandbaby now?"

Lainey clears her throat and squeaks, "It's my fault," before I can answer.

The whole room's attention swings toward her at once.

"No, it's not." I pull her in against my side.

"It is," she insists.

"No, it's not," her mama protectively declares.

Mom takes her eyes off Charlie and glances at Lainey in surprise.

"Here. Hold your granddaughter first," I offer, and shift my daughter carefully into Mom's arms.

She takes her like she's handling spun glass, already swaying. "Look at you, you little peach."

Dad comes to stand behind Mom's shoulder, staring down at Charlie with a soft expression I rarely see. His eyes turn glassy. He mutters, almost reverent, "Well, I'll be damned. Look at that hair."

"Language," Mom scolds, without looking up.

"She's got your jaw," Dad tells Mom, reaching one thick, calloused finger toward Charlie's fist. Her fingers close around it, and his whole posture gives. His shoulders drop, and his eyes, wrinkled from perpetual squinting against the sun, soften into something younger. "What a cutie."

Mason rises and steps next to me. "Well, would you look at that? Jagger Cartwright, a daddy." He claps a hand against my back hard enough to rock me forward a step. "Proud of you, man. Terrified for you, but proud."

"Careful. Emotions aren't a good look on you," I tell him.

"Neither's fatherhood, yet." He winks at Lainey, who huffs out a laugh despite herself.

A chilly gust floods the kitchen. Alexander and Phoebe step inside with Wilder and Ace trailing.

"You're wrong!" Ace insists.

"You wish," Wilder replies, then freezes.