THREE YEARS LATER…

“Have you seen Ash?” I peeked my head into the dining room where Emma set the table.

“No. Why? You can’t find him? I guess that’s what you get for building a place this big.”

I rolled my eyes and walked away. She was right—there was absolutely no need for all this space, but Ash had refused to listen to me while working with the architect. He’d taken every single thing I’d said and put it into one house. It was insane…yet I loved him that much more for it.

He’d spent a year updating my first home, getting it ready to sell so that I could make top dollar on it. It’d given him plenty of practice, and by the time he’d finished, he was ready to take the exam and become a licensed carpenter.

In the meantime, he’d worked on building our dream home, full of everything either of us could’ve possibly wanted in a house. His primary goal had been to give me something I wouldn’t have to fix up. And during our vows on what would’ve been the two-year anniversary of when we first met, I had promised to let him make any and all repairs from that moment forward.

The last place I checked was the garage—although, it should’ve been the first. Had it not been the farthest from the kitchen, I might’ve checked there before every other room on the way from the turkey on the stove to what had become his new workstation.

He still had the warehouse, though it served as more of a showroom, leaving him to do most of his work in the garage. And as I stepped outside, I wasn’t surprised to find him bent over the table with a tool in his hand and goggles covering his eyes. This was what he did best—carving wood to create something one of a kind. However, I had no idea what he was in the middle of now.

Catching me move toward him, he shut off the spinning wheel and put down the carving tool. “Hey, babe. Is the turkey ready?”

I nodded, taking in what appeared to be a spindle in the making. “I thought you took the holiday off. What are you doing out here?”

He came around the table to stand behind me, placing his hands on my round stomach. His chin rested on my shoulder at the same time a gasp flooded my chest, the sight in front of me taking my breath away.

“You made that?” I pointed to the crib that now held my focus without his body standing in the way.

“Making it…yes. You didn’t think I would let you put my son to sleep in some cheaply made piece of crap you bought at a store, did you?”

I shook my head and turned in his arms. “Were you planning to tell me? Or did you plan to just let me buy something and then expect me not to notice when you swapped it out?”

“We still have a couple more months to go…I was hoping to surprise you with it.”

Threading my fingers through his hair, I pulled his lips to mine. “I love you, Asher Jenkins.”

“I love you, too, Kristy Jenkins.”

His smile had always done something to me, and now, I had proof. Anytime he turned those curled lips my way, our son did backflips or kicked me, likely a reaction to my excitement. Which was what he did now—granted, it could’ve been his clue that he was hungry. “Come on, Ash. Your Thanksgiving feast awaits, and if we leave your mother in there with Emma much longer, there’s a good chance she’ll end up changing her majors. Again.”

He groaned yet followed anyway. “She’s really milking this college thing, isn’t she? Kinda makes me wish I had gone…just to live a few more years on my dad’s dime while I ‘found myself.’ Seriously, babe, if she spends any more time looking for herself, I’ll spend her tuition money on a damn mirror.”

Unable to hold my laughter in, I playfully backhanded him in his hard abs.

Just then, Emma came out of the dining room. “Oh, look. You finally found the woodchuck. Let’s hope the food’s not cold by now.”

“Hey, Em,” he called out, causing her to pause and look at him. “Kiss my Ash.”

She furrowed her brow, her nose scrunching and top lip curling in disgust. “If it looks likes Ash and smells like Ash…there’s a good chance it’s a steaming pile of Ash.”

“Good one, Kris,” he deadpanned, staring right at me as Emma walked away with her laughter echoing down the hall.

“Me? She’s the one who said it.”

“That sounds like something you’d say. It’s got you written all over it.”

I held up my hands in surrender. “She added ‘steaming pile.’ That wasn’t me.”

He pulled me to him and kissed me madly. “Let’s go give thanks.”

“So you can tell your mom and my daughter how thankful you are for me?”

“No…so you can tell them how thankful you are that I pressed play.”

That was true. I was very thankful that he had come along when he did, lied to me about his age, and unlocked the side of me that had been made just for him. He pressed play—for us both. And ever since, we hadn’t stopped.