Page 167

BONUS SCENE

EMILY

“I have a confession to make,” I tell Tate once we’re all settled in at the beach. Tate set up an umbrella, and we’re both sitting in low-to-the-ground beach chairs, with Colby having a pile of sand toys between us. There’s also a cooler filled to the brim with drinks and snacks.

“What’s that, babe?” Tate is bent over, making sandcastles with Colby, who’s situated between his open legs. Each time he makes any type of progress, our son quickly stomps it down with either his hands, feet, or body.

“I went to the doctor yesterday while Mom watched Colby.” I’m giving in well before I initially thought I would, but watching our boy every day, an ache blossoms in my chest. I don’t want our children to have so many years between them that they’ll practically be only children.

I want them to grow up together, to play together, and to lean on one another when life throws shit your way.

“Yeah, you didn’t tell me about that. Which doctor?” Tate asks.

“The obstetrician and gynecologist,” I take a sip of my lemon-flavored sparkling water, allowing the words to soak in.

“You leavin’ that up to interpretation, or you gonna let me know why you went. When the next appointment isn’t supposed to be until next year,” he gives me a wolfish smile. Yeah, my husband is going to walk around like a proud peacock, and he very well knows it.

“I had my birth control taken out. Colby’s a little over one, and I’m ready to start trying for another one.”

“Me Colby,” our son stands up and toddles his way toward me.

The beach sand is sticking to his sunscreen-covered body.

He’s in a pair of swim trunks, similar to Tate’s in color, and a baseball hat on his head.

It’s been a labor of love getting him to keep it on.

It wasn’t until last weekend that he conceded defeat.

I’m sure that had a lot to do with me chasing him around each time it fell off and telling him we’d have to go back in the house if he didn’t keep it on.

A UPF shirt, on the other hand, would not happen.

He runs far too hot for that, and I’m not taking a chance on him getting overheated.

Plus, the minute I try to put him in one, well, he runs right to Tate, saying, “I be wike, daddy,” it’s kind of hard to do anything about that.

“You are Colby, are you having fun?” I set my drink in the cupholder, open my arms, and he launches himself at me. I’ll be full of sand and will no doubt be sticky by the end of our hug, but I couldn’t care less.

“Nack, pwease,” he doesn’t answer me, instead he asks for what he wants. I’m an official snack bitch these days. When the mood strikes for Colby, it comes in the blink of an eye.

I look at my green-eyed baby, who is the spitting image of his father, and sigh at my husband. He knows, he always does, and honestly, I’m surprised I’ve made it this long without giving in to his tempting ways.

“I’ll grab him some fruit while you tell me why you went to the doctor, babe.

” Tate abandons the making of his sandcastles, and with Colby near me, he’s been able to make quite a few buildings.

I’m having a hard time forming words when I watch him dust his hands off.

The motion makes his muscles flex and makes my mouth water all at once.

“Em, babe.” He pops open the cooler, Colby’s eyes light up, and he’s wiggling to get down.

“Oh, yeah. Whoopsies, I got my birth control taken out. I’d also started bleeding like a stuck pig, had cramps, and came home while my mom was still there, allowing me to take the fattest nap. Today, things are better, and I’m not doing nearly as bad.

“You did what?” Tate looks taken aback, so much so that he drops what he’s doing in the cooler.

“I’m not on birth control anymore, we can start trying in a couple of days,” I’d timed it to where my period would be near to not get hit with a double whammy, and still it came in like a wrecking ball.

“Colby, did you hear that. You could have a baby sister or a baby brother next year,” he says, standing up, lifting Colby in his arms before soaring him through the year. Our boy lets out a fit of giggles, not at his dad talking but at Tate doing one of his favorite things.

“High, high, high,” I watch as my husband and son celebrate.

One with getting his way from his dad and the other with getting his way with his wife.

I’m not complaining, though, not in the least. If there’s one thing I’ve done on this earth that's right, it’s being Tate’s wife and Colby’s mother.

I throw my head back in laughter while they continue their airplane game.

I’m tempted to join them, but this is their thing, and I love seeing the bond they have with one another.

“Alright, bud. Daddy needs to see to your snack and give mommy a kiss.” While Tate’s baseball hat stayed on, the same can’t be said for Colby’s. He dips him down, Colby’s hands are out, and he grabs it before Tate sets him on his feet.

“Nack, nack, kiss, kiss,” Colby doesn’t know where to go first. I stand up, helping Colby secure his hat back as Tate digs through the cooler.

“You want a kiss from mommy,” I say, bending down to smooch on his cute cheeks.

“Mhhmm,” he responds. I get all of two seconds, and then he’s moving to Tate, who happens to have a container of watermelon cut up into small bite-sized pieces. Colby settles into Tate’s abandoned chair and doesn’t have to wait long.

“Come ‘ere you,” this time it’s me being picked up off my feet, my legs lifting in the air as Tate spins me around in a circle. I didn’t see him coming, and all I can do is hold on. He has a smile plastered on his face, and it’s infectious.

“Tate,” I say, feeling slightly dizzy when he stops. His hands never leave my waist, holding me steady like usual.

“I can’t wait to start trying,” I roll my eyes.

“As if we haven’t been practicing this whole time.”

“Yeah, but knowing we're creating a life, babe. That’s a different kind of feeling entirely.” I’m stunned speechless, and in doing so, Tate takes advantage. His mouth lands on mine, sweet at first, building until it’s at a scorching level, making my toes curl and my insides quiver.

“Me, me, me,” we’re interrupted by Colby’s voice, and he's feeling his hands on our legs. Tate keeps one arm around my waist, picks our boy up, and we settle into a hug of sorts. One that, with any luck, will go from three to four by this time next year.