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1224 Words
Lily’s bedroom always held the faint scent of the citrus soap she bought in bulk and the lavender oil she dabbed on her pillow. The words drifted through the edge of sleep, low and rough.
“Your room still smells better than the rest of the place.”
She turned her face into the pillow and muttered something that was not an invitation. The mattress dipped. A warm hand settled between her shoulder blades, steady and familiar.
“Lily. Up.”
“No.” Her voice came out thick. “It’s still dark. Go away.”
Leo’s quiet laugh vibrated through the sheet. He stroked once along her spine, and the touch felt far too good for this hour. She stretched under the thin fabric, half-asleep and unwilling to surface.
“Don’t make me pull this off,” he warned, pinching the edge of the sheet.
“You really don’t want to do that.”
“Why not?”
She huffed, more annoyed than shy. “Because I’m not wearing anything, Leo. Leave.”
Silence stretched for a beat. Then he stood. “Bullshit. Women don’t sleep naked.”
She refused to argue. The man had seen her in every state short of that one, and she intended to keep the last boundary intact.
“Anyway,” he said, already turning toward the door, “you might want to get up. Ethan called. Maya’s in labor.”
Lily sat up so fast the sheet barely stayed in place. She clutched it under her arms and glared at his silhouette against the living-room light. “That’s what you lead with? When did they leave? Is everything okay?”
He stayed quiet a second too long, head tilted. “Are you actually not wearing anything under there?”
She stared. Sixteen years of knowing him and he still defaulted to the same irreverent track. The women he used to date had been tall and sharp-edged. She was none of those things, and he had never once looked at her that way. The reminder landed with the usual dull weight.
“Is. Maya. Okay?” she asked through her teeth.
“Yeah. Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I told Ethan we’d bring coffee and food in an hour.”
“Thank you. Close the door so I can get dressed.”
He lingered half a second longer, muttered something that sounded like “pillow fights,” and finally left.
Sixty minutes later they walked into the small regional hospital with two large coffees and a paper bag of breakfast sandwiches from the café near the docks. Lily had thrown on black leggings, an oversized hoodie, and her oldest sneakers. The waiting area was nearly empty. Only Ethan sat there in sweats and a wrinkled T-shirt, looking nothing like the polished editor who usually wore button-downs.
He stood when he saw them, expression sheepish.
Lily already knew. “False alarm?”
Ethan exhaled and pulled her into a quick hug. “Doctor’s checking her now just to be sure. I’m sorry for the early call.”
“Don’t be.” She kissed his cheek. “Practice run. We’re ready for the real one.”
Leo yawned beside her. “Next time I get dragged out before sunrise, I expect actual babies to greet me.”
Ethan gave a tired half-smile. “Does that mean you two are still willing to be godparents? Package deal. Both of you or neither.”
Lily’s throat tightened. She looked at Leo, who actually looked startled.
“You’re serious?” Leo asked. “Of all the people you could ask—”
“You’re family,” Ethan said simply. “Both of you. First choice.”
Lily nodded, eyes already wet. “Yes. Of course yes.”
Ethan hugged her again, then clapped Leo on the shoulder. Leo pulled her against his side for a brief, solid squeeze and murmured into her hair, “Like either of us could sleep after that.”
They left the hospital with the promise to stay reachable. Outside, the early light was still thin and gray. Leo swung a leg over the black Harley parked near the curb and looked at her.
“You’re driving the truck. I’ll follow. Market’s open early and I want to plan the welcome food before the place gets crowded.”
She took the keys without argument. Leo hated city traffic; the bike gave him an excuse to stay out of it. The short ride inland to the open-air market felt longer than it was. Thick clouds sat low over the water, and the air carried the clean bite of coming rain.
At the first row of stalls Lily stopped to speak with the older couple who sold white roses and seasonal herbs. Leo’s voice cut through the early quiet a moment later.
“Lily!”
She found him two stalls down holding a small jar of golden jelly. He offered her a clean spoon. The taste was bright and tart—cloudberry, she guessed.
He nodded at the vendor. “Thinking about that Valentine’s idea. Sweet and heat. Like you on a good day.” He ordered two jars and asked about bulk pricing, then turned back to her as they walked. “Cloudberry chutney on smoked brisket with a Carolina Reaper kick. XXX-rated if we’re labeling them like movies.”
She laughed, the sound surprising her. “Dirty.”
He tugged her beanie down over her eyes for a second. She shoved it back up, grinning.
They moved through the market while ideas stacked up—tempura-fried bacon with horseradish sauce, a banana-curry dip adjusted for more heat, key-lime aioli, an apple-maple whip. Leo’s mind worked the way it always did once the food took over: fast, restless, precise. Every so often he would stop walking entirely, stare at nothing, and then start talking again as if the conversation had never paused.
Near the end of the row he caught her wrist and pulled her to a stop.
“Apple and maple,” he said. “That’s the missing piece.”
She saw it immediately. “They’re going to lose their minds.”
He smirked. “Remember that the next time you find my jeans on the floor.”
“I’m not picking them up anymore,” she said, and meant it.
They bought what they needed and headed back toward the trucks. Leo secured the bags in the small storage on the bike, then rested a hand on the handlebar and looked at her across the short distance.
“You’ll be a good godmother,” he said, quieter now.
“You’ll be a good godfather. Or at least the most entertaining one.”
He gave a short laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Let’s hope I never have to do more than spoil them and hand them back. I’m good at two things, Lily. The restaurant and not wrecking what we already have. Everything else I’ve managed to screw up.”
She wanted to argue. The words sat ready on her tongue—about the way he showed up, the way he remembered every detail that mattered to the people he claimed, the way he had never once made her feel like she was alone in the long years of building something
- Writer
