I’ve got the breakfast tray loaded up with eggs, bacon, toast—the staples—plus a carafe of orange juice and three glasses. I carefully make my way up the stairs, not spilling a drop, and I can’t help the surge of satisfaction I get every time I walk through this house—this home we’ve made. It’s everything we all wanted it to be; a memorial to Sully, the one who brought all of us together in the first place, but also uniquely our own, a new style, something that belongs to the three of us and no one else.

I push the bedroom door open with my hip, and a warmth fills my chest at the sight that greets me. It’s early yet, and Cate and Jack are still in the early stages of being awake, still in a light doze, spooning with each other. It’s adorable. I know it sounds like it belongs on a cereal box or a cat poster or something, but I really am truly blessed to have these two wonderful people in my life.

“Mmm,” Cate moans, the first to stir. “Dylan? Is that you being perfect again?”

“Depends on if you want breakfast in bed or not,” I toss back, winking at her.

She’s gorgeous.

Jack stretches and grumbles, then scratches his chest, and my cock twitches at the sight of them, rumpled and warm and so damn inviting I’d consider skipping breakfast if I didn’t know how much they both enjoyed me pampering them.

How much I enjoy it, too.

“You’re gonna spoil us completely rotten,” Jack says, giving me a lazy, loving smile.

“Been doing it for a year already, right?” I ask. “The two of you are already ruined. Besides, I’m guessing I’m the only one who remembers what today is.”

“Oh, shit,” Cate says, bolting upright in the bed. “Brownstone Living? Is that today?”

I laugh, can’t help it. It means so much to her, and Jack and I are so proud of her. Brownstone Living is a home and garden magazine that’s coming to do a professional photo shoot of the house and to interview Cate about her design choices. Not today, though, something that seems to click in her brain as that rush of adrenaline wears off.

“Cate Smith, the chic interior decorator of this season,” Jack intones, going for an upper-crust accent and cracking us up. It’s what they’ve been calling her, though, and it all started with this doctor she met in her kickboxing class and did some design work for last year. Turns out, he holds some kind of big annual soiree, and all sorts of power players just had to know who handled the remodel. Now she’s writing her own ticket on her own name, and MacMillan Design is old news, so four seasons ago, as Cate might say.

Cate picks up a pillow like she’s going to hit Jack with it, but then remembers the tray I’m still holding and seems to think better of it.

None of us want food spilled in the bed… at least, not by accident.

“Right, next week,” she says, putting the pillow back down and fluffing it innocently, like she wasn’t going to go after Jack for his incessant teasing.

It’s so good to see her carefree. She works her own schedule now and keeps it light; money isn’t a problem for her anymore, not with her choice of design clients, so why stress? She still makes time to teach her kickboxing class at the gym, and she’s even roped the two of us into attending now and then.

No joke: our Wildcat is a bit of a badass.

“So what’s today, then?” Jack asks, scooting back against the headboard and eyeing the bacon eagerly. He’s just come off a big case, and now that he’s a partner at his law firm—the youngest one in the firm’s history, thank you very much—they work him too hard, in my opinion. He loves it, though, and even if his suits may have gotten more expensive, he’s still the same old Jack that I know and love. Still rough around the edges, still dropping his streetwise wisdom wherever he can.

He frowns. “I told Marcus to keep me—”

Jack’s mouth snaps closed as his face goes red, and I grin, seeing that he remembers. He actually got himself a driver a while ago, some townie kid named Marcus, who also doubles as Jack’s memory and errand boy at times. Jack told me Marcus was the driver who took him to his old condo, back when it went up in smoke. Seems like Jack is turning more and more into Sully as time goes on, and it’s been a beautiful sight to behold.

“Can’t blame this one on Marcus,” I say, winking. I don’t care that it slipped their minds; that’s kind of my place in the family, as I think of it. Holding us together with traditions, important dates, all the little things that weave through our daily lives and bind us tight.

And family… well, Cate’s mother still isn’t part of our lives, and good riddance, and with Jack’s newfound level of wealth, he ended up setting up a trust for his former family—the Kellys—on the condition that they never contact him again. Far as I know, it’s been months without a peep, and he looks like there’s less weight on his shoulders than there ever has been before. He no longer has to carry around the burden of a name he didn’t choose or want, just like Cate, and he still gets to feel like he’s taking care of them.

I’ll never quite understand it on the same level that the two of them do, but I’m just glad they’re happy. The three of us—the Smith family—really seem to be enough for them. My own mother doesn’t fully understand our triad, but that doesn’t stop her from loving the both of them and accepting that we’re happy. Which, in the end, is all that matters, right?

“Are you two going to keep me in suspense?” Cate asks, scooting over so she can tug me down on the bed and steal a piece of bacon. Then her eyes go wide. “Oh! Did Boston Magazine publish that review on you, Dylan?”

I shake my head, grinning. I’m not even entirely sure that the picky customer who was in my restaurant last week was a reviewer, but Cate and Jack are convinced she must have been. And yeah, that’s right. My restaurant. After graduating, I paid my dues as quickly as I could. The kitchen can be a nightmare, but after everything that happened last year, it was a cakewalk by comparison. I got through it with no problem, no burnouts, not so much as a single bad egg.

After a while, I was getting noticed, and after a little bit more, I was getting my dishes featured on the menu. The head chef, my boss, knew I was ready for more, so she arranged a meeting between me and a good friend of hers in the restaurant business. That was a few months ago, and now I’m the head chef at one of the hottest restaurants down by the pier. It’s a lot of work, and it’s a little different than I expected it to be, but nothing makes me happier. It’s what I was meant to do with my life, and I’ll hold onto it forever.

Kind of like I plan on holding on to these two.

“Let’s just say I’m not just trying to spoil you with breakfast in bed,” I say, arranging the tray between us all. “But I wanted to make sure we started our anniversary off right.”

“Oh my God,” Cate says, closing her eyes and shaking her head. “How did I forget?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Jake says, looking sheepish. “I’m so damn scatterbrained with dates as it is. Gotta get better at that.”

“Don’t sweat it, you two,” I say, laughing. “I’m happy to be the master and commander of our family datebook. I’m the only one who gets up early enough to cook breakfast for us, anyway.”

Jack’s not a morning person by nature, although he does what he has to do on work days. Cate used to be pretty perky in the mornings, but lately? She’s seemed to have a little less energy. Even caught her napping during the afternoon a time or two. It would have worried me if she didn’t look so good. Not just her usual gorgeous, but positively glowing.

“Anyone told you how fucking beautiful you look lately, Duchess?” Jack says to her, as if he’s suddenly taken up reading my mind.

She flushes, then grins at both of us with a light in her eyes that’s something special.

Something different.

“Actually, I think there’s a reason for that,” she says, biting her lip as her whole body practically vibrates with excitement. “I wanted to be sure… and find a fun way to tell you… but maybe we’ll call it my anniversary present?”

“Oh, we’re supposed to do presents now, are we?” Jack teases, but I can tell she’s got his attention.

Mine, too.

Not just my attention… as I look at her shining face, take in the sweetness of how Jack’s gently stroking the back of her hand, feel my own heart swell with the depths of my love for these two… Cate’s got my hopes up, too.

Does she mean—

“Boys, I’m pregnant,” she says, sending a shot of joy straight to my heart. “You’re going to be daddies.”

“Holy shit,” Jack says, breathing out the words and looking stunned.

I can’t say anything for a second. We’ve never talked about it, but we’ve also been extremely sexually active. I start to laugh, just too filled with happiness to keep it in. “Oh, Cate,” I say, pulling her to me and covering her stomach with a hand as I kiss her. “Yes.”

“I’m going to get fat as a house,” Cate says, but I can tell she’s thrilled by the idea.

“Fuck, yeah, you are,” Jack says, his shock wearing off as a cheek-splitting grin takes over. “And you’re gonna be the hottest mom in the damn universe.”

“If we’re lucky, our baby will have your creativity, and your courage, and your strength,” I say to Cate, and the picture of a miniature version of her running around the townhouse makes my heart swell so big I’m amazed it doesn’t burst right out of my chest.

“Hopefully, he or she will get Jack’s brains,” Cate says, squeezing his hand and sending him a loving look before turning to me. “And your—”

“And Dylan’s heart,” Jack cuts in, eyes twinkling. “Ain’t nothing better than that. But there’s no if, Dylan.”

“What?” I’m not sure what he means.

“You said if we’re lucky,” Jack says, his eyes looking suspiciously bright. “But you’ve gotta know…”

He stops for a second, and I can see his throat working like he’s choked up.

“We’re the luckiest people alive,” Cate finishes for Jack, leaning against his chest and holding her arm out for me.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice raw with emotion. “That we are, Wildcat. That we are.”

I move the breakfast tray and wrap them both up in my arms, my heart overflowing. It’s true, we really are, and it hits me that Cate didn’t mention a paternity test. Neither Jack nor I thought to bring it up, either. The baby is ours, and I think we all know it.

It will be the Smith baby. Loved. Wanted.

Ours.

Just like this love.