Page 58 of Shattered Promise (Avalon Falls #4)

ABBY

The back porch smells like rosemary and grilled peaches.

The table’s packed elbow-to-elbow—folding chairs dragged in from the garage, paper napkins already unraveling across laps, laughter rolling across the yard like a warm front.

Mom and Dad decided we needed more space than their dining room table currently offers, so they’re having one custom-made.

But until that’s done, we’ve moved Sunday night dinners into their all season’s room.

Cora’s balancing a baby green salad in one hand and a half-finished mocktail in the other. She’s glowing, even when she rolls her eyes at Jasper. “That is not what I said. Check the group chat.”

Beau lifts his beer. “Which one?”

“The sibling one,” she deadpans.

I glance over at Mason, and he nudges my foot under the table, grinning like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

I’m in the sibling group chat now. Well, except for the other sibling one I’m not supposed to know about, where they’re planning a baby shower.

Graham is talking stocks with Dad, who somehow turned that into a fishing metaphor. Francesca keeps refilling my water glass like I’m not allowed to stand, ever. Vivie sneaks goldfish crackers into Theo’s palm like it’s a covert mission, and he’s very serious about not dropping any.

I reach over and adjust his bib. “You’re gonna turn into a goldfish,” I whisper, brushing a sticky curl from his temple.

“He’d still be cute though,” Mason murmurs beside me, his voice low and warm as sunbaked stone.

“Dada, up-up,” Theo says, lifting his arms and grunting in Mason’s general direction. Mason scoops him up with ease. Their foreheads touch briefly, and my chest swells.

But Theo’s not content to stay in Mason’s lap. He twists, a sturdy little acrobat in striped overalls, and plants one socked foot on Mason’s thigh. “Mum-mum,” he says, before launching himself at me.

I catch him mid-tumble, and he laughs, triumphant. I cuddle him to me, settling him right over my growing bump.

“Careful, bud,” Mason cautions, his hands hovering at Theo’s back like he’s ready to snatch him off me at the slight wince.

“He’s fine, Mase,” I murmur, smoothing Theo’s hair back a little.

“He’s getting too big to be climbing all over you like that,” Mason grumbles. His gaze has this protective gleam I’ve come to know over the last six months a little too well.

A clink of silverware draws our attention. Dad stands with a wine glass in hand, clearing his throat a few times. “If I could have everyone’s attention?—”

Beau groans. “Really, Dad? It isn’t a wedding.”

Dad ignores him. “I’d like to make a toast.”

The table quiets, everyone turning to face Dad.

Dad’s eyes find me, and then Mason, and then Theo and the curve of my belly currently hidden under a toddler and a tablecloth.

“To the newest addition to our family,” he says, voice rough around the edges.

“And to Mason and Theo, who remind us every day that love isn’t a bloodline—it’s a choice you make, over and over.

I don’t have the words for what you two mean to us.

So I’ll just say—thank you, Mason. For loving my daughter. ” He sniffs and swallows.

“Hey, what about me? Mason loved me first,” Beau grumbles but there’s no heat in it. It does exactly what he’d hoped for.

Dad flashes my brother a grateful smile and chuckles. “And for loving Beau, because we all know you guys were menaces at fifteen.”

Everyone around the table laughs, and Dad’s shoulders settle a little.

I meet Mason’s gaze and he’s fighting a smile, blinking a little too quickly. Theo is oblivious, happily squishing a goldfish cracker between his fingers before trying to jam it in his mouth.

“Well, all I’m saying is, your mom and I love you all. And may we continue to have to upgrade dining room tables,” Dad says, raising his glass. “To family.”

“To family,” everyone echoes, the words ringing warm and golden in the air.

Mason’s hand slides to the swell of my stomach, instinctive and reverent. I look at him as I lift my water glass, heart thudding.

Mom reaches for her glass too, blinking fast, then clears her throat. “I just want to say—” she pauses, swallows. “I’m so, so happy to have my family at home. Thank you for always coming back here on Sunday nights. I hope it’s a tradition we keep going . . . for a long time.”

She looks around the table like she’s cataloguing every face, committing them to memory. And when her eyes land on Theo, who’s now playing with the ends of my hair. And most likely getting goldfish cracker paste in it.

She looks at Mason. “You know, Mason, I was wondering, if well, I had this thought. That perhaps you might one day be open to me calling Theo one of my grandbabies? Don’t answer now.

Go ahead and think about it. I’d just been thinking about it for a while, and I wanted to see what you think,” she says, her voice pitches soft, but her words tumbling out fast.

The table quiets again.

Mason’s brows lift. He blinks once, slow. Then a smile spreads across his face, quiet and full and steady . “Of course,” he says, glancing at Theo. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Mom’s eyes mist just a little before she grabs a napkin and pretends she’s wiping her lipstick.

Cora lifts her glass in a silent toast. Jasper clinks his against hers. Francesca smiles into her mocktail sangria.

Then Margot—barefoot and half-drunk on sun and soda—leans across the table toward Vivie and says, “Tell your sister I want my sunglasses back.”

“ You tell Eloise you want your sunglasses back,” Vivie says, shoveling corn salsa onto her plate. “I’m not your messenger just because I’m the youngest, Margot.”

Hawke leans back in his chair, a lazy grin cutting across his face. “Leave her alone, Princess Chaos. You probably left them in the Reaper clubhouse again.”

My brows hit my hairline and Mason and I exchange a glance. Since when did Margot hang out at the Reaper clubhouse?

“You hangin’ around Hawke and the Reapers now, sis?” Eloise asks, sending her sister one of those glances that says a hundred different words without saying a single one.

Margot scoffs. “As if. Hawke’s a dog, Eloise . ”

Across the table, Hawke barks with a wide, shit-eating grin. It’s loud and quick and it gives golden retriever energy.

Theo loses it . Belly-laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. Chuckles erupt around the table, and I can’t tell if they’re genuine or those sort of nervous chuckles. I know one thing for sure, the group chat will be active tonight. Cora, Francesca, and I all exchange looks.

Margot arches a brow at Hawke, the picture of unimpressed. “Really, Hawke?”

Hawke is unrepentant. “I’ll be your dog if you need me to.”

Mason leans over, presses his lips to my temple. “Good day?”

“The best,” I say.

My hand finds his on my thigh, fingers laced. Theo giggles on his lap, sticky and sweet and so ours it physically aches sometimes.

This moment is loud, a little chaotic, totally unscripted.

And perfectly ours.