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“Grade one.” She shakes her head. “Nope. I’m not going there. Not yet.”

I chuckle as I close the door, rounding the truck to climb into the driver’s seat next to her.

“You still get two days a week with him,” I remind her gently when she sniffles out the window.

“I know.” She sighs, curling her fingers around the hand I’ve placed on her thigh where I always place it when we drive.

I can’t help myself; I love touching this woman.

“Next year, you can work full time if you want.”

She peers at me, smiling a shaky smile. “I want.”

“Yeah, I figured that.”

She squeezes my hand. “Hey! I’m good at what I do, buddy!”

My head jerks back. “Buddy?”

“Do you prefer pal?” she smarts.

I give her thigh a squeeze and she squeals. “What do you call me?”

“Dude?” she tests.

I squeeze again, making sure to hit that spot that makes her⁠—

Faye screams through a laugh. “Tate!”

“Try again, sweetheart?” I tickle her again.

“Oh God, no!” she begs. “Okay, okay, husband! Focus on the road!” she chastises when I settle my hand on her thigh again. “You goon.”

I slide my eyes sideways as though to ask, really?

She harrumphs, knowing full well she’s being testy.

I swing into Cherry’s on the way to the office to drop Faye off. Usually, she drives herself, but today was a special day. Today, I’m cutting out of work early to pick up my boy.

But first, I’m treating my wife to her favorite maple latte.

Alone in my truck at the job site, I stare down at the pictures I’ve uploaded into the text thread along with a novel of information.

Owen, holding Milo, the little Siamese I bought for Faye when we decided we would hold off on trying for a baby. I came home with the kitten citing the need to satiate her ovaries in some form or another, because it wasn’t long after we decided to press that pause button that Shy and Elijah announced their first pregnancy.

Faye likes to tell me it wasn’t her ovaries I calmed with the kitten, but the baby fever I’d clearly been struck by, sans ovaries.

I don’t tell Holt that part. I just tell him that Owen is great with animals, and he does his darndest to get the cat to sleep with him every night, but the little bugger has chosen Faye as his human and that’s that. Another fur baby is in our near future, because watching Owen’s little heart sigh in defeat each night is killing me.

I tell Holt a puppy is starting to look like a good idea.

I send him another photo of Owen with dirt-stained knees, chomping away on garden peas. I tell him Candace has taken up gardening and that Owen loves raiding it whenever the opportunity strikes. I tell Holt that Owen loves veggies and fruits, though he knows that already. He also knows that Owen struggles with meat, but I tell him he’s getting better at eating that, too.

I send another photo of Owen smiling a chocolaty smile, holding an ice cream cone at the base of a twisty green slide. It’s one of my favorite photos—there’s just something bright about his eyes in it. Something so pure, it’s been my screen saver for months.

I tell Holt that Owen still won’t eat strawberry ice cream…

Last, I send the photo of Owen that I took outside the house this morning. His dino backpack is heavy on his shoulders, but he carries it with pride that shines through a toothy grin. The sun strikes his hair, haloing him in warmth that radiates through the photo.