The Summer of Us (Mission Cove 1)

“You were at the bakery,” I stated, reaching for the glass of iced tea beside her. “Yet no biscuits appeared on my desk, no visit from my wife to brighten my long, lonely day.”

She snorted, passing me the glass. “I saw you two hours prior, and I was in the bakery for a short time to pick up some paperwork. I had other errands to run. I hardly think you needed a visit.” She shook her head. “Abby was there, so don’t give me the lonely bit.”

I chuckled. “She was in and out all day. Jenny had something going on at school, so Abby was busy with her.”

Sunny chuckled. “She’s always busy.”

I had to agree. Abby and Michael had a rocky, angst-filled start, but once they both accepted the feelings they had, and Michael came to grips with the fact that he could love another woman, they had flourished. Abby adored his kids, and they, in return, soaked up that affection, giving it back to her in spades. The first time Jenny had called her “Mom,” Abby had wept in my arms for over ten minutes while telling me the story. Thinking it was something she would never have—a family of her own—I knew how special that was to her. Now married, she was entrenched in their lives. They were at our place a lot, Michael and I having grown closer, and she and Sunny best of friends.

Sunny sighed quietly, leaning against the bark of her tree, closing her eyes. I studied her for a moment, suddenly noticing the lines of fatigue on her face and the fact that she was paler than normal.

“Sunny?”

She didn’t open her eyes. “I feel you looking at me. I’m fine, Linc. A bit tired, but fine.”

“Then you need to rest more. You do too much for too many people.”

A smile tugged on her lips. She opened her eyes, the look she gave me warm and tender.

“I will.” Then she picked up a small bag. “I got you something.”

I took the bag, filled with curiosity. I loved buying Sunny presents and did so regularly. She deserved to be spoiled. Her gifts were rarer. She said I was hard to buy for, but the truth was, I had all I wanted. Usually her gifts came in the form of a new kind of biscuit or something lacy she would wear for me. Those, I had to confess, were my favorite gifts.

But this bag was too heavy for lacy. I reached in and pulled out a small pot, containing a plant. I frowned at the odd gesture, then looked at Sunny. Her expression was bright, her eyes luminous.

“Um, thank you?” I murmured. “For my desk?” I guessed.

She shook her head. “I want to plant it about ten feet that way.” She pointed toward the house.

“Oh. Another willow?”

“Yes,” she said. “A baby willow. I thought we could plant it in recognition of the one you planted.” As she finished speaking, she bit her lip, looking nervous.

“But I haven’t planted…” My voice trailed off as her words sank in. I gaped at her. A baby willow. For the baby I had planted. In her.

A tear slipped down her cheek as I stared at her. Sweet, warm, anticipating, leaning on her tree, one hand resting on her stomach as the news—the wonderful, amazing news—she had to share with me took shape in my head.

Then she was in my arms and we were laughing, crying, kissing—celebrating. I cupped her face. “We’re having a baby?” I confirmed.

“Yes.”

“Are you all right?”

“Aside from being tired, yes. The doctor told me to rest a little more.”

“I’ll make sure of it.”

“I knew you would.”

I kissed her again, holding her close.

“I’ll plant the tree tomorrow.”

She laid her head on my chest. “I thought maybe we could make a whole grove someday.”

I dropped a kiss to her head. “One, two, six. Whatever we decide. Whatever we’re blessed with.” My voice became thick. “I already have more than I dared to dream of.”

She snuggled closer. “I love you, Linc.”

I held her, my mind rampant, my thoughts a mass of jumbled emotions—mostly good, but one doubt I needed her to ease.

“Will I be a good father?” I asked, allowing my fear to show. “I didn’t have a good role model.”

“Which is why you’ll be amazing. You will give this child everything you didn’t have. I think you’ll love this child—all our children—endlessly. You’re patient and kind. Caring. Generous.” She sighed. “Just like your mother.”

I kissed her again. She always knew what to say. I caressed her stomach with the wonder that, beneath my hand, our child was growing. Still tiny and fledgling. But there. Right under my hand.

“I love you,” I murmured, bending low. “I already love you.” I met Sunny’s tender stare. “Thank you.”

Sunny covered my hand with hers. Then she smiled.