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“What if they eat rainbows?” Tillie offered from her spot, now focused on gluing a Polaroid onto her page.
We’d all agreed a scrapbook just for Ollie was the best possible Father’s Day gift for a man who had everything. Each photo had a note from one—or all—of us, listing the reasons we loved him. Because really, how the hell else do you impress a billionaire? A cute-ass scrapbook of him and his kids was my best bet.
“Like Skittles?” Beau asked, eyes narrowed in focus as I wiped his other hand.
The instant I let go, he scrambled for the pile of unclaimed Polaroids, flipping through them one by one before a giggle burst out of him, his grin spreading wide.
“What’d you find?” I asked.
“This one looks like Daddy hasn’t had coffee yet,” he declared with an affectionate smile. Tillie glanced over, smirking as she nodded in agreement. Beau scrambled to hand it to me once he’d looked his fill, returning to the stack as he muttered, “Very brave for Mommy to love him anyways.”
My heart…froze. A brick lodged in my chest, creeping up my throat as I looked down to see a sleepy-looking Ollie, with rumpled hair, and me pressing a kiss to his cheek. Both of us were entirely washed out by the flash, and his squint looked part amused, part exhausted.
“Did you mean to say ‘Leighton’?” I chirped, trying not to let the quake in my chest make it into my voice.
He frowned. “I didn’tsayLeighton,” he declared indignantly, his tongue sticking out just like his sister as he flipped through the prints. .”
“Did you just call me Mommy?” I asked, the word breaking in my throat.
Tillie’s eyes snapped to me. And—unless I was dreaming—there was hope there. Hope and something else. Something fragile.
“I mean,” Beau said, brow furrowed in concentration, “you’re my brother’s Mommy, and you do all the things a Mommy does. And you love Daddy. And Mommies and Daddies are people that love each other and love their babies. Andyouloveus.”
“Daddy says he thinks you’ll marry him someday,” Tillie added quietly, like it was a wish she didn’t dare say too loudly. “Will you? Marry Daddy?”
I swallowed hard, curling a hand around the chain at my neck—his ring resting just over my scar.
“Can you guys keep a secret?” I asked.
They nodded in tandem. Terrible liars, both of them.
“Look at the last page,” I said, voice low.
Tillie lunged for the scrapbook like a mountain cat, flipping through our work in progress with an energy that sent Beau into a half-hearted whine as he tried to swipe it back.
“Hey! I wanna see!”
“Me first!”
“What do whiners get?” I asked sternly, arching my brows.
“Nothing,” Beau grumbled.
“Good man.” I pulled him into my lap as Tillie kept flipping. “Both of you can see. No need to squabble like raccoons.”
“We’re not raccoons,” he muttered as Tillie grinned.
Finally, she reached the last page—a Polaroid I’d taken in my favorite Bomber’s hoodie. Ollie’s hoodie. I was grinning, holding up my hand, the ring clearly visible.
“I knew it,” Tillie declared triumphantly.
Beau blinked between the book and Tillie before craning his neck up at me. By way of explanation, she added, “Leigh is gonna marry Daddy!”
“Yes!” he whisper-cheered, fist punching the air so enthusiastically I had to dodge it. Then he turned in my lap and grabbed both sides of my face to plant a kiss directly on my mouth.
I burst out laughing. Probably not the right reaction to such a heartfelt moment, but I couldn’t help it. I scooped him up and blew raspberries on his belly while he squealed.
“Okay, okay,okay!” he screeched, writhing in my arms. “You win!”