Page 12 of Claimed by the Grumpy Shifter (Curvy Wives of Cedar Falls #5)
A year later
"There's my little cub," I coo, lifting four-month-old James from his bassinet. His amber eyes—identical to his father's—blink up at me with sleepy recognition before his tiny face breaks into a gummy smile that melts my heart every single time.
It still amazes me how much love can fit inside a human body. Before Marc, before James, I thought I understood what it meant to love someone. I had no idea. The emotions that flood through me when I look at my son, at the family we've created, are so overwhelming they sometimes bring me to tears.
Happy tears, of course. The kind that make Marc panic until I explain that some feelings are just too big to contain.
"Your daddy will be home soon," I tell James, settling into the rocking chair by the window where I can watch for Marc's truck coming down the road. "He's been delivering Mommy's flowers all day."
James gurgles in response, his tiny hand clutching at the neckline of my blouse. Even at four months, he has his father's strength. And, if the slight golden gleam that sometimes flashes in his eyes when he's upset is any indication, he might have inherited more than just Marc's coloring.
We don't know yet if he'll be a shifter. Marc says it's too early to tell, that the signs usually don't appear until puberty. But sometimes, when James is particularly fussy, I swear I can feel a rumble in his tiny chest that reminds me of his father's bear.
The thought doesn't frighten me anymore. Nothing about Marc's nature frightens me now. If our son inherits the ability to shift, we'll handle it together, just like we've handled everything else this whirlwind year has thrown at us.
And what a year it's been.
After that night at the gas station, after Marc revealed his true nature and I surprised both of us by accepting it without hesitation, everything moved at lightning speed.
I moved into his rental house two weeks later, partly because I couldn't bear to be apart from him and partly because the bear wouldn't allow it. The mate bond, as Marc explained it, demanded proximity in the early stages.
Not that I was complaining. Living with Marc meant waking up to his warmth every morning, falling asleep in his arms every night, and discovering all the ways his bear nature influenced our daily life. The protectiveness. The territorial instincts. The insatiable appetite—for food and for me.
Three months after that first date, I discovered I was pregnant.
The news sent Marc into a protective frenzy that was equal parts endearing and infuriating.
He wouldn't let me climb ladders at the shop.
Wouldn't let me lift anything heavier than a bouquet.
Practically growled at male customers who stood too close.
But he also rubbed my feet every night, built a crib with his bare hands, and read parenting books with the same focus he once reserved for military operations.
And when James was born, a relatively easy delivery, thanks to my "compatible mate genetics," according to the shifter midwife Marc found, he cried without shame, holding our son with trembling hands.
The flower shop has flourished almost as much as our little family.
What started as a modest local business has expanded to serve three neighboring towns, largely thanks to Marc's idea to offer delivery services.
Who knew that having a former Marine with enhanced senses delivering flowers would be such a hit?
Women swoon when he arrives with bouquets, though he swears he never notices anyone but me.
I've hired two new employees. Lily, a twenty-year old girl with an incredible eye for design, and Thomas, a retired gentleman who manages the books. They run the storefront while I work from home, designing arrangements and managing orders online between feedings and diaper changes.
It's not exactly the life I imagined when I told Marc about my white picket fence dreams, but it's better. Richer. More authentic and raw and real than any fantasy I could have conjured.
The sound of tires on gravel pulls me from my thoughts.
I shift James to my shoulder and move closer to the window, peering out to see Marc's truck pulling into our driveway.
My heart still skips when I see him—this massive, beautiful man who chose me, who gave me a family, who shows me every day what it means to be truly loved.
"Daddy's home," I whisper to James, who perks up at the sound of the truck door slamming.
Marc takes the porch steps two at a time, and I meet him at the door with our son in my arms. The smile that breaks across his face, so different from the guarded expression he wore when we first met, never fails to delight me.
"There's my family," he says, voice gruff with emotion as he leans down to kiss me. Even after a year, his kisses still make my toes curl. "How's my boy?"
James squeals in response, tiny arms reaching for his father. Marc takes him with hands that could crush stone but never, ever harm his son.
"He missed you," I say, leaning into Marc's side as he cradles James against his broad chest. "We both did."
"Missed you too." He presses a kiss to the top of my head, inhaling deeply the way he always does when he's been away. Scenting me, marking me as his in the subtle ways of his kind. "Got some news today."
"Oh?" I lead him into the kitchen where dinner is simmering on the stove—beef stew, heavy on the meat, the way he likes it. "Good news or bad news?"
"Good, I think." He settles into a chair at our small kitchen table, bouncing James gently on his knee. "Jake called."
My heart skips. Marc's brother. The one he hasn't spoken to in years, the relationship he thought was irreparably broken. "What did he say?"
"That he's been looking for me. That he heard through the grapevine that I'd settled down, started a family." Marc's voice is neutral, but I can see the emotion in his eyes. "He wants to visit. Meet you and James."
"That's wonderful!" I move to his side, running my fingers through his dark hair. "When?"
"Next month, if that works for us." He looks up at me, vulnerability written across his features. "Is that okay with you? Having him here?"
"Of course it is. He's family." I press a kiss to his forehead. "Your family is our family."
The relief in his expression makes my heart ache. After all this time, he still sometimes expects rejection, still braces for the worst even when surrounded by love.
"There's something else," he says, reaching into his pocket with his free hand. "I found a house today. On my delivery route."
"A house?"
"Five bedrooms, three acres, just outside town. Needs some work, but it's solid. And..." He pulls out his phone, showing me a picture. "It has a white picket fence."
The house on the screen is perfect—a two-story farmhouse with a wraparound porch and, yes, a white picket fence surrounding a yard big enough for children to play in. For a family to grow in.
"It's beautiful," I whisper, tears welling in my eyes.
"I put in an offer. Was that okay? I should have talked to you first, but it felt right, and the bear—"
I silence him with a kiss, pouring all my love and joy into the connection. "It's more than okay. It's perfect."
The tension leaves his shoulders, and he pulls me onto his lap next to James, creating a little family huddle that feels like the safest place in the world.
"I never thought I'd have this," he confesses. "A home. A family. A mate who accepts all of me, even the parts that aren't entirely human."
"I never thought I'd be married to a bear shifter," I tease, brushing my fingers along his jaw. "Life is full of surprises."
"Regrets?" he asks, and though he tries to make it sound casual, I can hear the genuine question underneath.
"Not a single one." I rest my head on his shoulder, watching our son's eyelids grow heavy as he nestles against his father's chest. "How could I regret the greatest adventure of my life?"
His arm tightens around me, and I feel the rumble of satisfaction deep in his chest. The bear expressing its contentment in the only way it can while Marc remains in human form.
Outside, the sun is setting over Cedar Falls, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold that would inspire a dozen wedding bouquets. In a few hours, after James is asleep, Marc will take me to bed and show me all the ways a bear can worship his mate.
In a week, if our offer is accepted, we'll begin planning our move to the house with the white picket fence. Next month, we'll welcome Jake into our growing family.
And someday, when James is older, we'll tell him the story of how his parents met—how a broken soldier found healing in a small-town flower shop, how a shy florist found courage in the arms of a bear, and how true love can transform even the wildest of hearts.
It's not the fairy tale I dreamed of as a little girl.
It's better.
Because it's real, and it's ours, and it's just beginning.
Thank you for reading it!