Page 123 of Mended Fences

Because this? This was it. This wasmine.

Not the orchard. Not some family legacy I never wanted. Not the endless hustle to be like Elliot—perfect, reliable, steady. This wasmine. A wrinkly little miracle wrapped in a hospital blanket and a woman who looked like she could both destroy me and rebuild me with a single glance.

This was what I was made for.

Tessa sniffled. “I swear to god, if anyone tries to take her away from me before I get my turn, I will throw hands.”

“As long as you sanitize them first.”

Chapter Forty-Five

CHASE

Now, May 2025

It’samazing how quickly your life can shrink—in the best possible way.

Once upon a time, I measured my worth in bottles emptied, bridges burned, and apologies half-meant. Now?

Now, well… I still measured my day in bottles emptied, but they went along with naps successfully transferred from chest to bassinet, the number of burp cloths I went through before noon, and the squeaky little sound Lucía made when she stretched in her sleep like a cat in a sunbeam.

And I wouldn’t trade a single goddamn second of it.

At 9:06 a.m., I was strapping Luci into the baby carrier like it was military-grade tactical gear. She was snoozing with one fist curled under her cheek, wearing a pale-yellow onesie that saidNew to the Crewin bold block letters. Her tiny legs dangled out of the bottom like plump little drumsticks.

“You ready, sweet pea?” I asked, gently bouncing on the balls of my feet. “Time to go buy overpriced bread and pretend to understand heirloom vegetables.”

She sniffled in reply.

I took that as a yes.

We hit the Saturday farmers market like it was our goddamn runway.

I had on my softest hoodie, my comfiest joggers, and the smug-but-wholesome aura of a man who had purpose. People smiled at me like I’d done something heroic just by existing in public with a baby strapped to my chest.

One older woman literally clutched her heart and said, “Ohmy, isn’t she justprecious?” before whispering to her friend, “And he’s wearing her.”

Yes, ma’am.I pushed up my sleeves and grabbed a basket of early strawberries.I am wearing her. And I am crushing it.

We did a lap—bread, cheese, overpriced jam I absolutely did not need—and ended at the flower stand. Because Elena deserved flowers just for being Elena.

“Grab the ranunculus,” I whispered to Lucía like we were making a covert op decision. “They’re fancy as hell and hard to pronounce. Perfect for your mom.”

She yawned dramatically.

By the time we got home, Luci had drooled through her second bib and was doing that half-snort, half-sigh sound that meant she was three minutes from passing out or launching into a banshee wail. Possibly both. And, honestly,same.

I punched in the code to unlock the front door with my pinky finger while juggling the flowers, a loaf of sourdough, and a baby who was flapping her arms like a baby bird preparing for takeoff.

“Home sweet chaos,” I muttered, kicking the door closed behind us.

The house was quiet.Elena was working her first full shift back at the ER since Luci was born, and I’d been pretending all day that I wasn’t counting the seconds until she got home. Spoiler: I absolutely was.

I carried Luci into the kitchen, plopped the groceries on the counter like I was prepping a cooking segment, and unstrapped her from the carrier.

“One rustic sourdough. One wedge of smugly expensive cheese. A tiny jar of fig jam that cost more than my first fake ID. And,” I added, holding up the bouquet like it was a trophy, “a bunch of flowers I still can’t pronounce.”

I glanced at the haul and laughed under my breath.