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It’s almost whimsical.

I know it’s abrupt from his perspective, but I need answers.

After his mom’s fate, who knows. Maybe children are out of the question.

Too much pain and too high a risk in his world.

Still, I should know the heart of the beast I married.

He stares at me for a beat before his lips turn up.

“As many as you can stand,” he growls finally. “Truth be told, I’ve always wanted kids. And you know making them won’t be difficult.”

Heat darts through me.

I exhale with relief, so glad his trauma hasn’t closed off the possibility.

He runs a hand through my hair, slowly, implying how oh so easy it would be.

I give in, pressing my lips against his.

A soft kiss at first.

Careful and searching.

Like we’re both rediscovering whether the ground beneath us will hold instead of caving in.

But as soon as his hand slides to the back of my neck, I’m gone, back in the wild.

The force of nature in his kiss.

The way my body gives in so naturally, without hesitation.

His other hand finds my waist and pulls me closer, not demanding, but needing.

Just when I think he’ll press me down on the sofa, he breaks away.

“What prompted that question about kids anyway?” he asks.

Lately, everything.

Especially the conversation with his brother about what becoming Mrs. Luca Ferrazzo really means.

But I think I have a better answer.

With a heady sigh, I reach for the books on the end table that I was reading before he walked in.

“I was sorting through a few old classics from my apartment. These go back to my childhood, old faves I couldn’t dream of throwing away.”

It makes me smile, all the memories I have as a young girl, sitting on Dad’s lap and hearing his rolling voice reading to me. He’d do it first thing when he’d drag himself home from a long day working, even when he’d barely eaten and his stomach growled all the way through story time.

Such a wonderful man.

I’ll never stop missing him, and I’m grateful he made time for me.

There could be no sweeter blessing than to carry on the tradition with my own baby someday, reading the same stories we loved.

“Show me,” he says.