Page 42 of Hampton Holiday Collective

“I’m really fucking excited for you guys,” he adds, gently pulling the stocking cap off Ledger’s head and nuzzling his nose into his nephew’s hair before inhaling deeply.

“Why’s that?” I ask, hoping to distract him long enough to take a little whiff. I peel up Griffin’s hat—just a little on one side—and take my own deep breath.

Well, shit. His head really does smell good.

“First,” he starts, “Little Wheeler’s been cranky as fuck since you knocked her up. Thank God the babies are out and she can go back to being sassy instead of murderous.”

I can’t deny it, but I bite my tongue, refusing to speak one ill word against my wife.

“And second—when have youever,in our entire lives, needed me for something?” He pauses for emphasis before raising a fist and pounding it on his chest.

“You’re sitting in the presence of a seasoned fatherandpediatrician. You’re going to be the one calling me for advice from now on.” His mega-watt smile is filled with smugness. I don’t bother arguing. He’s not wrong.

But I won’t admit that to him. “You’re such an asshole,” I grumble, just as Griffin grunts and Ledger cries out.

“But you love me,” Fielding counters, shifting forward and adjusting my son in his arms before reaching toward my chair and popping a pacifier into Griffin’s mouth.

“Yeah,” I acquiesce. “I really do.”