Daisy was doing amazing. She never peed in anyone’s shoes since Chase and I had gotten back together. Apparently, all I’d needed to do in order to rid her of the nasty habit was let the right man through my door. I opened my mouth to say something, but Layla waved me off. “Yes, including the azalea in the pantry. God, to think this giant pantry could be put to good use. How’s little Ronan doing?”
“Still inside my body.” I pointed at my huge belly.
“Lucky bastard,” Chase muttered. Layla elbowed him. I laughed. The past eight months had been a dream. Who knew that the devilishly handsome man with the mouth I wanted to punch and kiss in the same breath could be such a great husband? We’d fallen into a comfortable routine full of family and friends and laughter. We spent a lot of time with Zooey, Sven, and Francisco, as well as with Clemmy, who was obsessed with her flower girl dress and, following in my footsteps, had recently forced a classmate to marry her during a playdate. Ronan seemed like a perfect addition to an already big and loving family.
Another contraction slammed through me. It felt like someone had taken a match and lit my entire lower back. I winced, gripping the linen to the point of white knuckles. One of my nurses—Tiffany, a redheaded woman in her fifties—walked into the room, and Layla figured it was getting crowded, saluting on her way out. The nurse peeked under the blanket covering my legs.
“Yup. He is ready for his grand entrance into the world, all right. Keep breathing.” She patted my knee. I’d never quite understood this expression. Did one ever stop breathing voluntarily? Specifically while giving birth?
Tiffany left the room, called the doctor, then poked her head back in. “What’s it gonna be? Is Daddy staying in to watch the birth?”
Chase and I exchanged glances. We’d planned every single thing about the birth in detail—the overnight bag we’d packed together when I was only seven months pregnant, the labor classes we’d taken, the breastfeeding plan—but we’d never talked about whether he was going to stay and watch or not.
“Up to you.” He cleared his throat. We held each other’s eyes. For a second, I thought we’d take out our phones and do the old banter dance-off. Then my husband surprised me by taking my hand. “Please.”
And I knew.
“Yes.” I grinned. “He stays.”
Forty-five minutes later, Ronan was out in the world, screaming up a storm. He had Chase’s bright-blue-silver eyes, my brown-honey hair, and two clenched fists with curiously long fingernails. He was like a baby dragon. I laughed and cried when Tiffany put him on my bare chest. Because I knew he was a gift from Mom and Ronan.
In fact, that was the one thing I’d written to baby Ronan in the very first letter I sat down to compose to him when I found out I was pregnant. One of many I intended to write. I told him he was a great, precious gift who wasn’t supposed to happen. That his daddy and I had been careful—I was on the pill and took it daily. The week the manufacturer of my birth control pills came out with a grand apology for their faulty pills, I’d realized I was a week and a half late. The idea of being pregnant hadn’t even registered to me before that, so I never kept up with the dates.
I took a pregnancy test. It was positive.
Chase and I were engaged to be married. But we still hadn’t spoken about the other C-word—children. I remembered the moment I’d found out. I sat on the closed toilet seat in Croquis’s restroom, ironically in the very stall where Chase and I had had sex months before, staring at the two blue lines, then looking up to the ceiling and smiling at the sky.
“Touché, Ronan and Mom.” I’d shaken my head. “Touché.”
Now, I had a son. Someone to love. To write letters to. To see grow.
I watched Chase pick him up, all bundled up like a burrito, with his little stripy hat. My husband smiled down at him, and my heart swelled.
“How I got her to say yes to me? Why, yes, Ronan, that’s a funny story. Let me tell you all about it . . .”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
They say writing is a lonely job, and while I agree with that statement wholeheartedly, it is definitely gratifying to see your name on a book cover and take pride in having your hard work be recognized.
This book, however, is the fruit of many wonderful women’s labor, and I would like to take this opportunity to thank them properly.
First and foremost, big thanks to my agent, Kimberly Brower. I wanted to do something different this year, and you made it happen. I couldn’t have asked for a better copilot to navigate my way in the publishing world.
My editors at Montlake Publishing, Lindsey Faber and Anh Schluep. Thank you so much for your amazing work, mind-blowing expertise, and excellent attention to detail. Knowing Chase and Maddie were in such capable hands made this process flawless.
Special thanks to my PA, Tijuana Turner, and beta readers, Sarah Grim Sentz, Vanessa Villegas, and Lana Kart. You ladies are my tribe.
To my best author friends, Charleigh Rose, Parker S. Huntington, Ava Harrison, and Helena Hunting. You inspire me. Thank you for holding my hand throughout this process.
To my kick-ass street team and the Sassy Sparrows Facebook group—you guys are the best! I said it before, and I’ll keep saying this: you push me to become better at what I do.
To my husband and son, who are endlessly patient. Thank you for being understanding when I slip into a parallel universe and spend time with my characters.
To the bloggers and bookstagrammers who constantly BRING IT. Words cannot describe how grateful I am for the time and effort you put into your passion. You are true artists.
There are so many other people who made this book happen. Yamina Kirky, Marta Bor, Amy Halter, Ratula Roy, and more. Unfortunately, I’m notoriously bad at remembering everyone I need to thank when writing this section. Please take mercy if I haven’t included you but should have.
Finally, I’d like to thank you, my readers. I thank my lucky stars for you every day. Writing is a privilege. Being able to pay the bills writing? Well, that is nothing short of a miracle.
Thank you.
All my love,
L.J. Shen
xoxo
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
L.J. Shen is a USA Today, Washington Post, and Amazon #1 bestselling author of contemporary, new adult, and romance titles. She likes to write about unapologetic alpha males and the women who bring them to their knees. Her books have been sold to twenty different countries and have appeared on some of their bestseller lists. She lives in California with her husband, son, and eccentric fashion choices, and she enjoys good wine, bad reality TV shows, and catching sunrays with her lazy cat.