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He grins at me, wide and unbothered. “More?”

I sigh and lean in to kiss his soft curls, breathing in the scent of marinara and baby shampoo. “You are so lucky you’re cute.”

“Just like his mom,” Luca calls from the doorway, shrugging off his jacket. He walks into the kitchen, looking far too smug for someone who missed dinnertime and skipped clean-up duty.

“You’re late,” I say, arching an eyebrow at him.

“I brought pie,” he counters, lifting a white box from the bakery down the street. “Cherry.”

“You’re forgiven,” I reply instantly, reaching for the box like the hormonal, pie-craving woman I am.

Luca leans over to press a kiss to my temple, then one to my swollen belly. “Hey, baby. Your mom’s got that dangerous glint in her eye. You better behave in there.”

“You better behave out here,” I mutter.

He chuckles and scoops up Carter with ease. “How’s my big guy?”

“Messy,” I say flatly. “He got most of the spaghetti on himself, the rest on the dog, and somehow, I think there’s sauce on the ceiling.”

Luca tilts Carter upside down and earns a squeal of laughter as he inspects his son’s spaghetti-soaked onesie. “Ah, a true Wright. Chaos incarnate.”

“He’s definitely yours,” I mumble, even as I smile. I can’t help it. Watching them together always makes my heart squeeze.

Carter babbles something incoherent and smacks Luca’s face with a wet noodle.

I laugh so hard I snort.

“This is what I get for raising a mini-you,” Luca grumbles. Then he grins and wipes his cheek.

Once the mess is cleaned up—more or less—and Carter is bathed and in bed, Luca and I curl up on the couch together. I rest my head against his shoulder, and his hand settles over my belly, fingers brushing back and forth in lazy sweeps.

“Today was chaos at the store,” I say, exhaling slowly. “A birthday party and two back-to-back art classes. One kid tried to eat glitter.”

“Just one?” he asks dryly. “You’re slipping.”

“I’ll try harder tomorrow,” I promise with a grin. “But I did get the rest of the Valentine’s kits assembled. And the new gouache paint sets finally came in.”

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Luca murmurs. “I don’t know how you run that place, teach kids and adults, chase Carter, and still put up with me.”

“I like a challenge,” I tease.

He leans in and kisses me—slow and sure, the kind of kiss that still makes my toes curl even after five years, a baby, and a mortgage.

I sigh happily. “How was work?”

“Busy. Townes and Xavier are building our new training schedule, and Meyer wants to offer community safety workshops.”

“Look at you,” I say proudly. “Mr. Responsible Business Owner.”

“Don’t get used to it. I’m still a sucker for a stupid bet.”

“Oh, trust me, I remember.” I pat my belly. “You owe me dinner, by the way.”

“For what?”

“I said I’d finish building Carter’s toy organizer before you finished hanging the shelves in the nursery. I won.”

“Pregnancy strength is cheating,” he mutters.