"For eggs," I agree, smiling at his enthusiasm. "Are you being a good helper?"
"Best helper!" His face is serious, like this is the most important job in the world. "Daddy says so."
I look over at my husband, who's standing in the partially constructed frame of what will eventually house the chickens he insists we need for "fresh eggs and self-sufficiency." His flannel shirt is rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms that still make my mouth go dry, and there's sawdust in his dark hair.
He catches me looking and grins, the same smile that's been making my knees weak for twenty-two years.
"How's our best helper doing?" he calls out, wiping his hands on a rag.
"He's doing great, but I think he needs a snack and a nap." I bounce Tommy gently. "Someone has been very busy this morning."
"No nap!" Tommy protests immediately, because naps are clearly a conspiracy designed by parents to ruin all the fun. "More building!"
"The building will still be here after you rest," Sawyer says, walking over to us. "And Daddy needs a break too."
This is a lie. Sawyer McKenna could probably build chicken coops for twelve hours straight without breaking a sweat. But he's learned that sometimes the best way to convince a stubborn toddler to do something is to make it seem like the adults need it too.
"Will you read me the truck book?" Tommy asks, already negotiating. "The one with the big trucks?"
"I'll read you the truck book if you take a good nap," Sawyer promises, reaching out to ruffle Tommy's hair. "Deal?"
"Deal!" Tommy reaches for Sawyer, and I transfer him over to his father's arms. The easy way they interact, the completetrust and love between them, still makes my chest tight with emotion.
Two years ago, Tommy was a baby who barely knew Sawyer existed. Now he's a little boy who calls him Daddy without hesitation, who runs to him when he's hurt, who insists on helping with every project and mimicking every gesture.
Now he's completely and utterly Sawyer's son in every way that matters.
"Mrs. McKenna?" Sawyer's voice pulls me out of my thoughts. "You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Getting that look on your face. The one that says you still can't believe this is your life."
He knows me too well. After two years of marriage, he can read my expressions like a book, knows when I'm happy or worried or just overwhelmed by how good everything turned out.
"Can you blame me? Two years ago I was a single woman living in a tiny apartment, terrified I was going to lose Tommy to Derek. Now I'm married to the best man in Montana, living in a house I love, with a son who calls us both Mama and Daddy."
"And don't forget the chickens we're about to have," Sawyer adds solemnly.
"How could I forget the chickens?" I laugh, standing on my toes to kiss him. "Though I still think six chickens might be excessive for a family of three."
"Four," Tommy announces from Sawyer's arms.
"Four?" I look between my husband and son, confused.
"Baby," Tommy says seriously, like he's explaining something obvious. "Baby in Mama's tummy."
My heart stops. Literally stops beating for a full three seconds while I process what my two-year-old just said.
"Tommy, sweetheart, there's no baby in Mama's tummy." I keep my voice calm, even though my pulse is suddenly racing. "Where did you get that idea?"
"Daddy told me." Tommy looks at Sawyer with complete confidence. "Daddy says baby comes for Christmas."
I turn to stare at my husband, who's looking remarkably calm for a man whose toddler just announced my pregnancy before I knew about it myself.
"Sawyer McKenna, what exactly did you tell him?"
"I told him that Santa might bring us a special present for Christmas this year. A baby brother or sister." Sawyer's blue eyes are dancing with mischief and something that looks suspiciously like smugness. "I told him we'd have to wait and see."
