Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 33213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
The good kind. The forever kind.
“Okay,” Junie says, dropping dramatically to her knees. “I’m starting.”
“Go for it,” I say, curling onto the couch beside Saxon. He pulls a blanket over my legs, then slings his arm around my shoulders, tugging me into his side. I go willingly, melting against him.
Junie opens her gifts one by one, shrieking about each one as if it’s the best present she’s ever received.
A dollhouse. A firefighter Barbie (“She needs to look like a fire captain!”) A sparkly purple helmet for her bike. A stack of picture books. A stuffed moose with a crooked smile. She is pure joy wrapped in a glittery pajama set.
Midway through tearing wrapping paper, she freezes. “Isn’t there one more?”
Saxon frowns. “One more?”
She crawls under the tree like a tiny determined raccoon and emerges with a small wrapped box—red paper, white ribbon, and a tag. She squints dramatically as she reads it.
“To: Saxon From: Santa”
Her eyes go wide. “Santa brought you a present!”
Saxon shifts, confused. “I didn’t—I didn’t put anything under there for me.”
Junie thrusts the box into his lap. “You have to open it!”
I watch him. My pulse thrums steadily in my ears.
He looks at the box like it’s suspicious—like it might explode. “Why does Santa have your handwriting?”
I shrug innocently into my coffee mug. He narrows his eyes.
“Open it!” Junie begs.
He sighs, undoing the bow with the same careful precision he uses on hoses and rescue lines. He peels back the wrapping paper, opens the small box—and freezes exactly the way he did when Junie asked if he would be her dad.
Inside is a tiny fireman’s onesie. Black fabric. Silver reflective stripes. A little patch that says “Firefighter in Training.”
He stares at it like his brain can’t compute what his eyes are seeing. Then he lifts the sleeve. And beneath it—the pregnancy test. Positive. Bright. Unmistakable. Life-changing.
Time stops.
Saxon doesn’t speak.
Doesn’t breathe.
Doesn’t even blink.
“Is that a baby shirt?” Junie asks, leaning dangerously close to the test.
Saxon’s throat works once. “Briar…”
I set my coffee down carefully—my hands shaking too much to trust my grip—and slide closer, touching his knee. “Yeah.”
He lifts the onesie again, staring at it, then at the test, then at me.
“You’re—” His voice breaks.
“I am.”
He swallows hard, jaw trembling once before he clamps it down so tight I can feel the strain of it. For a full ten seconds, he’s silent. Then he drops the onesie and pulls me straight into his arms. He holds me like he’s been drowning for years and only just found air. His face presses to my neck. His breath shakes against my skin. His hands grip my back, palms spreading wide like he’s trying to feel all of me at once.
“You’re pregnant?” he croaks.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “About six weeks.”
Another breath punches out of him.
“When did you—?”
“Found out yesterday morning. I wanted to tell you after the fundraiser but then…” I glance at Junie. “Everything happened.”
He leans back, eyes burning, hands cupping my face. “You—you gave me a baby for Christmas?”
I laugh through tears. “Santa did.”
He kisses me.
A trembling, breathless, reverent kiss that makes my chest ache.
Junie plops into his lap, not entirely understanding but sensing something monumental is happening. She wraps her arms around both of us.
“Captain Saxon?” she whispers.
He pulls her into the hug too, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Yeah, baby girl?”
Her voice trembles. “Are we gonna have a baby?”
He laughs—a broken, overwhelmed sound. “Yeah, Junebug. We are.”
She squeals and starts bouncing in his lap. “A baby! A baby! Can I name it? Can I help? Can I—”
Saxon hugs her tighter, burying his face in her hair.
I see it. His joy. His awe. His fear and hope tangled together.
And that emotion from the firehouse—when he told her he’d be honored to be her dad—wells up again, fuller, deeper, uncontainable. He turns to me, eyes shining.
“You’re… you’re giving me a family.”
“You already have one,” I whisper. “This just makes it bigger.”
He cups my cheek, brushing away my tears with his thumb.
“I love you, Briar,” he says, voice low and certain and rough. “I love both of you. All three of you.”
I break.
Completely.
I lean into him, kissing him softly, my forehead against his, breathing him in—smoke, pine, coffee, and Saxon.
Always Saxon.
He pulls back slightly, eyes flickering to my stomach. His hand slides slowly down, warm and reverent, stopping over my lower abdomen. He spreads his palm there. Protective. Awed. Home.
“There’s a baby in there,” he whispers, like he’s afraid to say it too loud.
“There is.”
His eyes shine. “Our baby.”
I nod.
He lets out a shaky laugh—deep, disbelieving, joyful. “I don’t deserve this.”
“You do,” I say, cupping his face. “You deserve everything.”
Junie squeezes us before leaping off the couch. “Can we have cinnamon rolls now?”
Saxon barks a laugh, rubbing his face. “Yes, Junebug. Cinnamon rolls for my girls.”
“And the baby!” she adds.