Page 43 of Writing Mr. Wrong
GEMMA
S IX M ONTHS L ATER
I t was their six-month anniversary, and Mason was cooking dinner in Nonna Jean’s.
The restaurant was closed Mondays, and they often commandeered it for a private dinner for two.
Sometimes, his grandmother insisted on making the meal so they could properly enjoy their romantic dinner, which was lovely, but Gemma actually preferred this—sitting on a stool in the kitchen watching Mason cook.
Today, she was only half watching him, her attention pulled to the papers spread on the counter. Papers for launching the adoption process… and papers for launching the process to become foster parents. They’d been planning the adoption route until Jesse convinced them to consider fostering.
Gemma had broached the possibility of surrogacy, if Mason wanted a child with his own DNA, but he didn’t give a damn, and that was…
Her eyes prickled. That was an amazing feeling, to know all the options were on the table.
Almost as amazing as knowing he was as eager to start the process as she was.
They weren’t married yet, which, yes, was the traditional first step.
But she had the ring and he wanted a big wedding and, honestly, so did she.
For now, she’d moved into his condo, and they were making wedding plans, but this came first—starting a family.
It wouldn’t be right for everyone, but it was right for them.
“Fostering might be good,” Gemma said as she moved around the papers. “If we don’t mind not having an infant…”
“I don’t,” Mason said as he chopped tomatoes, the knife flying. “I’m not sure how good I’d be with babies. I think I’d be good with kids, though.”
She leaned over to kiss his cheek. “You will be awesome with kids. And probably awesome with babies, too, but if we don’t have a strong preference, maybe this is the answer. Fostering with an eye to adoption. Would that work?”
He stopped chopping, took her chin in his hand, and kissed her, long and slow.
“Anything that involves starting a family with you works. You know that. But, yeah, fostering an older kid with hopes of adopting, sounds really good. If we want to adopt or foster a baby later, we can do it once I’m out of the NHL and you can count on me being around full-time. ”
She nodded. He wouldn’t be out of the Growlers anytime soon.
They’d discussed that ad nauseam—should he start making plans to retire before he was pushed out?
They’d decided no. Screw dignity. He was staying right up until they escorted him from the arena, and maybe not even then, as he already had his eye on coaching.
For some players, retirement meant leaving hockey behind.
Mason wasn’t ever doing that. He was just going to slow down and expand his horizons to include things like a wife, kids, coaching…
Mason went back to chopping. “Nonna Jean wants to take over the wedding plans.”
Gemma sighed. “Of course she does.”
“With your Grandma Dot. They have been conspiring, apparently. Since I’m heading back into the hockey season and you’re writing book three, with book two out this fall, they have graciously offered to plan everything.”
“Graciously, huh?”
He grinned. “Out of the goodness of their hearts. However, if you really want to plan the wedding…”
She shuddered. “I do not. They can have it, and I’ll take this.” She waved at the papers. “Oh, and I spoke to administration at the college. I’m dropping to a half schedule, so I can focus on my writing and some hockey player.”
“Pro athletes are very demanding.”
“Almost as demanding as new novelists.”
He grinned at her. “Well, you get a break tonight. The only thing I’ll be demanding is that you eat dinner.”
“That’s the only thing?”
His grin grew. “The rest isn’t a demand.” His eyes twinkled. “Unless you want it to be.”
She laughed and popped one piece of fried artichoke in her mouth and another in his. “We’ll see. For now, just get cooking.”
“Yes, ma’am.”