Page 108 of Love Wells Kept

I chuckle. “The man doesn’t speak much, but when he does, his opinions are strong.”

“I have a feeling she’s a girl, anyway.” Cecily smooths a hand over her stomach. “But we should probably agree on something for a boy. I’ve been having the weirdest dreams about names lately—like the other night, we named the baby Pickles.”

Cassidy tilts her head. “Hey, I mean…we still call Hazel ‘Little Spud’ sometimes, so I’m on board.”

My phone pings, and I race to pick it up, only to find Jackson’s sent a picture of Odessa, Rhett, and Hazel—with muddy clothes and hands, disheveled hair, and the brightest smiles I’ve ever seen—standing next to a picnic table covered in plates with even more mud.

Jackson: The kids have been busy. Hope you girls are hungry <3

My fingers lightly tap my lips, feeling the smile I can’t hold back as it spreads across my face. I take a deep breath of floral air. Everything feels light and hopeful, and I gleefully show the photo to each of the girls.

“Speaking of little spuds, looks like Hazel has enough dirt in her hair to grow potatoes.” Blair squints at the screen before passing the phone to Cass, who only shakes her head and laughs.

“Those are the happiest little kids I’ve ever seen,” Whit says.

I settle back in my chair, the chatter swirling around me like the scent of peonies and lavender. And as talk settles into name suggestions, guesses on when the baby will arrive, and pregnancy cravings, our hands move as easily through the flowers as our conversation does. The vases fill like the hours, easy and unhurried, and for the first time in months, I’m not anxiously counting the minutes until I’m back home. I’m savoring them.

Jackson

Odessa meticulously straightens a white-and-blue tea towel draped over her makeshift tree stump table, then slaps a paper plate covered in mud down on top of it. Stepping back to admire her work, she gives a little nod before spinning to face the row of lawn chairs me, my brothers, Red, and my dad are sitting in. When we set them up on the grass an hour ago, Denny said we looked like a bunch of suburban dads, just needed white New Balance sneakers and to cut our jeans into shorts.

With all the wives in Wells Canyon for Cecily’s baby shower, us guys figured it might be more fun to sit in the sunshine and let the kids run feral for a few hours. Besides, Kate was hesitant about leaving me alone with the kids for the first time, so I hope she’s able to relax and enjoy herself knowing there are multiple capable adults here.

“The restaurant is open,” Odessa announces, brushing her dirty hands across the front of her pink T-shirt.

“What are you serving?” I ask hesitantly from my lawn chair.

“Anything you want.” She beams at me. “We have pies and pizza and hamburgers and…”

Denny leans over in his chair to talk to me out of the side of his mouth. “And anything flat and patty shaped.”

“Rhett and Hazel are my chefs.” She gestures to where the two younger kids are sitting in a pile of dirt, garden hose running between them to create a thick, goopy mud for their pies. “And Avery’s my taste tester.”

Denny’s attention bounces between his niece and his infant daughter, who’s content in her bouncer chair. He shakes his head. “No feeding mud to the baby, got it?”

“Fine, you can have her share.”

“I’m actually on a no-mud diet right now,” he replies. “But you go ahead and make your dad an extra-large pizza, he’s still trying to make up for all that weight he lost eating hospital food.”

“The mud pie’s probably more appetizing.” Austin stretches his denim-clad legs out in front of him.

“Nothing beats farm to table,” Red says with a chuckle.

Dad adds, “Plus the chefs at this place are cute.”

Rhett and Hazel sit shoulder-to-shoulder on the ground, mottled sunlight illuminating them through the branches of a nearby tree. Hazel’s gleefully patting a pile of mud in an overturned Frisbee. Rhett rips up a handful of grass and sprinkles it over his own pie with a concentrated look on his face.

Odessa strides toward them and waits impatiently—hand on her hip and the ball of her left foot tapping the earth—as Rhett adds his final touches. Then she’s headed in my direction with what I assume is meant to be an extra-large pizza. The hose has been running a little too much, so the mud’s real sloppy, threatening to spill over with every step she takes. By the time she’s crossed the lawn, the paper plate is nearly buckled in half.

I wince, prepared to be covered in slop when she hands it over to me. Thankfully, that doesn’t happen, and I balance it on my lap while smiling up at her.

“Looks great, Princess. What’s on it?”

“It’s made with cheese”—she points to three sunken dandelions—“and peppers and love.”

The last word slams into me, and I blink down at the plate of mud decorated with grass and dandelions because I refuse to cry right now. It’s silly to be so affected by this.

For so long, I couldn’t see any way to where we are right now, with me doing more than watching them play the way I have so many times before—disconnected and uncomfortable. Today I’m back in their world, and there’s no place I love more.