Page 47

47

Jake

“Ten bucks says Blaze ropes the pinata before the kids even get a swing,” Blake says beside me, arms folded.

Dad snorts. “Make it twenty—boy can’t resist showing off.”

I grin into my lemonade. “You two bankroll his ego; I’m staying neutral. Can’t let the birthday girl see internal dissension in the family ranks.”

Across the lawn Blaze hollers, “Who wants a lasso lesson?” while swirling hot-pink rope overhead like a one-man rodeo. The cousins cheer; the adults groan.

I always figured second-birthday parties were supposed to be chaos—cake smeared in hair, half the cousins sugar-buzzed and sprinting around the barn, Blaze showing off rope tricks nobody asked for.

But for once everything is smooth. Piper’s got the folding tables draped in pastel runners, Emma’s wrangling toddlers into a cupcake-decorating line, and Violet twirls in her brand-new floral sundress like a pint-sized tornado of pure joy.

I’m leaning against a fence post with Dad and Blake, sipping lemonade, pride swelling my chest. Piper lifts her camera, tracking Violet’s spins, shutter clicking in a steady rhythm. The early-evening sun turns her hair into liquid copper. I catch myself staring too long—again—and look away before Blake notices.

Then the air shifts.

The music keeps playing—some kiddie pop Violet picked—but the chatter dips an octave, like every conversation loses the same word at the same time. I follow the sideways glances to the barn’s open double doors.

Marnie stands there, framed by sunlight.

She’s dressed impeccably—tailored cream blazer, heels that will sink into every patch of dirt on this property, designer tote on her forearm like a shield. Even from across the space I can read the tension in her shoulders, the way her gaze darts past relatives and lands on the birthday girl.

My spine locks. Instinct kicks in: I step toward Violet before my brain finishes yelling don’t make a scene at your kid’s party . Emma moves faster, intercepting Marnie halfway, blocking her with a polite-but-solid sorority-president smile.

“What are you doing here?” Emma asks, voice pitched low but steel-lined.

“I wasn’t aware a mother needed an invitation to her own child’s birthday.” Marnie’s words are smooth, but the edge is diamond sharp.

Technically, she’s not invited because she never RSVPed, never replied to the e-card Violet dictated two weeks ago. But arguing semantics in front of a crowd isn’t the play. I force my shoulders down and walk up beside Emma, planting myself between Marnie and the cake table.

“Marnie,” I say, keeping it neutral. “Didn’t expect you.”

“I can see that.” Her eyes flick to Violet—still spinning, oblivious—and then to Piper, camera now hanging forgotten at her hip. There’s a flash of something in Marnie’s gaze—curiosity, maybe jealousy—before she reins it in. “I brought a gift.”

I spot the ribbon-wrapped box in her other hand—silver foil, impeccable bow. Of course.

Behind me, Piper slips forward, calm and poised. “Hi, Marnie.” She offers a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “The more people loving Violet, the better her day. Right?”

Marnie’s mouth tightens, but she nods. “Exactly.” Territorial glance, subtle but there.

Emma looks to me for a call. Violet squeals from the hay bale tower. She’s spotted her biological mother—recognition only from pictures and a handful of carefully orchestrated visits. She toddles over, arms out. “Mama!”

The crowd collectively exhales. Marnie crouches, catches Violet, presses a kiss to her cheek. It’s genuine. I can’t deny it. Violet chatters about cupcakes, waving icing-smeared fingers in Marnie’s hair. The pristine blazer doesn’t stand a chance.

And somehow, that sight—Marnie letting the stickiness happen—eases a notch of anxiety in my chest.

Piper steps back, giving them space, but I don’t miss the way her hand brushes Violet’s back in passing, like a silent tether. Violet giggles at the dual attention. My daughter loves big; room for both women apparently isn’t an issue for her.

Conversation resumes in pockets. Savannah cranks the music volume. Blaze corrals the kids toward a pinata. Emma nudges me. “You good?”

“Ask me tomorrow.”

I keep one wary eye on Marnie as the party rolls forward. She stays polite, accepts a paper plate of cake, even admires Violet’s lopsided frosting masterpiece. Piper hangs back, running point on games, making sure every cousin gets a turn swinging at the pinata, never once inserting herself into Marnie’s interactions.

That—more than anything—hits me. At one time, Piper would’ve hustled to the front, soaking up the spotlight. Tonight she’s happy playing stagehand, letting the scene belong to Violet.

I see Marnie noticing too.

When Blaze finally snaps the pinata rope and candy rains down, Violet shrieks with delight. She grabs fistfuls of gummies, then pauses, scanning the chaos. She toddles over to Piper, drops a single cherry lollipop into Piper’s palm, and whispers, “For you.”

Piper melts. So do I. And when I glance at Marnie, I catch a flicker of reluctant respect in her eyes.

Maybe that’s the biggest gift Violet gives today: proof there’s room here for more than one woman who loves her.

***

The sun’s barely dipped below the horizon by the time we load the last folding chair. Violet’s chocolate-crash finally hits; she’s limp as a rag doll in Piper’s arms. I tuck her securely into her car seat while Piper hums a lullaby under her breath.

The drive from the main barn up to the ranch house is only a quarter mile, but it’s enough for twilight to settle like a blanket. Piper rests her head against the seat, watching road dust swirl in the headlights.

Violet’s small snores fill the cab. No one speaks. Strangely, it isn’t awkward.

At the house, Piper scoops Violet again before I can, tiptoes her upstairs, and handles teeth-brushing and pajamas like a pro. I hover in the doorway, heart stuttering at the picture: Piper kneeling beside the bed, smoothing a quilt my mama made. Violet sleep-murmurs “love you” with eyes already closed. Piper presses a kiss to her forehead. “Love you more, cowgirl.”

My chest aches.

Downstairs the kitchen still smells like frosting and barbecue smoke drifting in from the pit. Piper moves toward the front door, keys half-out of her pocket.

“Where’re you going?” I ask, leaning against the frame.

She halts, eyes flicking to mine. “Figured I’d give you the night. Big day. Lots to process.”

I shake my head slowly. “Stay.”

Her jaw works. “Jake, you’re still healing. I don’t want to push—”

I cross the room in three strides, take the keys from her hand, set them on the table. “Not pushing. Invitation.”

She searches my face, trying to read the fine print. I swallow hard.

“I’m not over it,” I tell her. “The lies, the blog, Marnie’s lawsuit threat—still hurts.”

“I know,” she whispers.

“But I don’t want a life without you in it, either.” I exhale. “That’s the truth.”

Her eyes brim, but she doesn’t cry. She just steps closer, laying her palm over my heart. “Same.”

We stand there, breaths mingling, the hum of the fridge the only sound. I slide my fingers into her hair, tip her head back, kiss her slow. She answers, soft but certain, like she’s been saving every ounce of tenderness for this exact second.

“Bedroom?” I murmur against her lips.

She nods.

We barely clear the doorway before need snaps the air between us tight as barbed wire.

I cage Piper against the hallway wall, forearms braced to either side of her head. She tilts her chin, eyes half-lidded, pulse fluttering beneath skin I’m suddenly desperate to taste. I nose along her jaw, drag my mouth down the slender column of her throat, feeling her swallow—a shiver that travels straight to my spine.

She lets out a breathy laugh. “You always did have a thing for walls, Ice.”

“Anything sturdy enough to hold us.” My hands skim her ribs, then sweep lower, mapping the curve of her hips through thin cotton. Muscles bunch beneath my palms—familiar terrain, achingly missed. “God, I thought I’d never get to do this again.”

Her fingers slip beneath my T-shirt, nails grazing the vee of my abdomen. “Still squishy,” she murmurs, though the teasing wobble in her voice betrays how badly she’s shaking.

“Watch it.” I nip the shell of her ear, earning a soft gasp that flames my bloodstream. Then I lift her—easy as breathing—and her legs lock around my waist. We bump down the hall, laughter and panting tangled, until I shoulder the bedroom door and nudge it shut with my boot heel.