Before I even opened my eyes, I knew it was a sunny morning. My face was warm, and I stretched, blindly searching for Jo in the bed beside me. When I found her side empty, I snapped my eyes open and instantly thought back to the night at the hotel when she skipped out on me early.

Then I remembered that I was in her bedroom. She couldn’t have gone far.

The smell of simmering bacon and coffee reached my nose. I inhaled deeply and tore the covers off to swing my legs over the side of the bed. Jo had collected my clothes from wherever they were discarded the night before and folded them up neatly on top of her dresser. I dressed quickly and went to the bathroom where I took a leak and splashed cold water on my face. I ran my wet fingers through my hair to tame it, and then went to find my girl in the kitchen.

She had her back to me and was diligently hovering over what must have been an omelet in a copper pan on the stove. She was humming a song I thought I recognized but couldn’t place, and her slippered feet were tapping along to the beat. She flipped the omelet and stepped back to open the oven. She bent over and peered at the bacon sizzling away on a pan, and I gave her ass a good firm squeeze.

Jo yelped and slammed the oven closed. She spun to face me, her face a mask of joy, and sprang forward to throw her arms around my shoulders. “Good morning, handsome,” she purred, planting a kiss on my cheek. “I hope you like a big breakfast. We have omelets, toast, and bacon. And there’s coffee hot in the pot.”

“What did I ever do to deserve this royal treatment?”

Jo pulled away to check the omelets and shrugged. “Where should I start?”

I grinned and went to the coffee pot where I poured myself a hot mug of steaming dark caffeine. I sipped it carefully so as not to burn myself. I scalded my tongue anyway and cursed myself for being impatient.

“How do you feel about meeting Sam this morning?” Jo asked as she pulled the bacon out of the oven. She transferred each bubbling strip to a plate covered in paper towels then wrapped the bacon up to soak up all the extra grease.

My stomach turned over with nerves. “I’m more nervous about meeting him than I was about my first solo flight.”

Jo laughed and shook her head at me. “You’re overthinking it. Don’t worry. I know he’ll like you.”

“How can you know for sure, though? I mean, isn’t there some wiggle room for you to be wrong? He’s a kid. I have zero experience with kids. In fact, if I’m being honest, I do my best to avoid them at all costs.”

“Same,” Jo said simply.

“What?”

“Same,” she said again.

I narrowed my eyes at her as she put four pieces of bread down in the toaster. She turned back to me and braced herself against the counter. “I’m not a huge fan of kids. I mean, for the most part, they’re little hellions. Parents let them get away with murder, and they turn into these entitled, walking, talking, dumb miniature humans with the emotional range of a hairpin.”

“That’s just cold,” I said, but I couldn’t stop myself from laughing.

“But it’s true. And I know a lot of other parents who feel the exact same way about other people’s kids. When it’s your own son, it’s different. Trust me. I spent nine months feeling the way you’re feeling right now. Feel lucky you only had to feel this for three weeks.”

“And I didn’t get swollen ankles, compulsive vomiting, or mood—”

“Don’t you dare say mood swings,” Jo warned with a flash of her teeth.

I held my hands up to feign innocence. “All right, all right, my bad. I was just trying to sympathize.”

Jo giggled and the toast popped. She grabbed the butter and jam from the fridge and put the toast on our plates. We stood shoulder to shoulder and buttered our bread. Then she unwrapped the bacon, and we each took a few pieces. Lastly, she slid the omelets onto our plates, and we both took them and our coffees to the table.

“So is this what life is like for you and Sam?” I asked. “Gourmet breakfasts, hot coffee, and good company?”

“Sometimes.” Jo smiled as she cut off the corner of her omelet and placed it on her toast. She bit the pieces off, chewed, and swallowed. I did the same. “Sometimes it’s simpler. Yogurt or cereal or something. If I’m feeling really lazy, Sam will start his day off with a Poptart.”

“A Poptart?” I exclaimed, pretending to be appalled.

Jo rolled her eyes at me but smiled. “This is more of a weekend thing. Like today. Sam and I are both big fans of big breakfasts. We like to rotate between this sort of thing and pancakes.”

“Damn,” I said. “Lucky kid. This omelet is delicious.”

“I’ve been told I’m a pro in the kitchen.”

“I won’t contradict that.”

We enjoyed the rest of our breakfast, and Jo poked fun at me for leaving my bacon for last. Apparently, Sam did the same thing. It was strange to hear her talk about a boy I’d never met; a boy who was my son. There were significant similarities, and I couldn’t help but wonder how much of me I’d see in him. Perhaps I’d only see Jo.

Part of me was hoping for the latter. It would be less jarring.

After we ate, I cleaned the dishes. Jo made another pot of coffee and hovered around me, chatting happily about how excited she was that I was finally going to meet Sam. “I know you’re nervous,” she was saying. “But I’ve been thinking about this day for five years. Since before he was even born. I just never thought it would actually happen. So weird.”

“Very weird.”

“But a good weird, right?” She sounded a little unsure.

“Of course,” I said, pausing my scrubbing of the pan she cooked the omelets in to look over at her. “Just because I’m nervous doesn’t mean I don’t want this.”

“I know,” she said, but I could still detect a hint of insecurity in her tone.

I eyed her evenly. “But?”

She bit her bottom lip and wrapped both hands around her coffee mug. “But I can’t help think I’m pushing you into something you don’t want. We don’t have to do this. We can wait. I don’t want to ruin any of this, and you meeting Sam is a big step. There’s a lot of pressure, and I don’t want you to meet him only to change your mind and realize you don’t want to be part of this family.” She shook her head doubtfully. She was talking a mile a minute. “I just don’t want you to have any regrets. I chose this. You didn’t. It kind of just fell into your lap, and you’ve handled it better than I ever could have imagined. My son—our son—is really special, and I don’t want him to fall for you like I did and then have the rug pulled out from under him if you decide a few months from now that this is all too much and—”

I’d been drying my hands on the towel hanging below the sink, but she was spiraling. I grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her one firm shake. “Jo,” I said. “I’m not going to bail on you or on Sam. Okay?”

Her bottom lip trembled, and she looked away from me. “That’s not a promise you can make. Just like any relationship, things can change. I know I want this. I just am so scared of having it slip through my fingers.”

“Listen to me. I want this too. There is nothing that could scare me away from choosing you. You could have told me we had triplets, and I still would want to meet them and try.”

“Y-you would?” she asked shakily.

“Yes.” I nodded. “I’d be shitting myself right now and trying to find side jobs to make more money to put them through school, but yes. Sure, you having a son wasn’t what I expected, but it’s not what I didn’t want. Does that make sense?”

“Sort of.”

I smiled warmly at her and ran my thumb over her cheek. “I’m here. I’m in this with you. Even if Sam hates me, I’m going to stay because you are what I want—what I’ve wanted for a long time. And I’m a stubborn bastard. I wouldn’t give up until he liked me.”

Jo laughed. It was a relieved, desperate sort of laugh, but it was a laugh nonetheless. “Okay,” she said, dabbing at the corners of her eyes. “Thank you.”

“I’m just glad to know I’m not the only one shaking in my boots,” I said.

Jo glanced at the clock on the stove. “He should be here any minute now with my dad.”

“Are you trying to kill me, woman? Do I have to meet your dad today, too?”

Jo threw her head back and laughed loudly. Then she wrapped her arms around my waist and hugged me tightly. “You’ll meet them both as just my friend for now, remember? Baby steps.”

I rubbed her back and rested my chin on her head. “Yeah. Baby steps.” We stood there in silence for a little while, which was pleasant. She smelled like clean laundry, and her closeness eased the tension in my shoulders and the worry in my gut. “So, do you think your dad will be happy to see me?”

Jo chuckled into my chest. “Not if he thinks you’re my boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Yeah.” She leaned back to look up at me. “Right?”

I nodded. “Definitely.”

She went to the tips of her toes and kissed me. Then there was a knock on the front door. It creaked as it swung open, and a little voice called, “I’m home!”

Jo smiled at me when my eyes widened. I could tell she was trying not to laugh. She took my hand and pulled me out of the kitchen where we emerged at the end of the hall across from the door.

Jo and Ryan’s father looked similar to how I remembered but with less hair and more modern glasses. He was pulling the front door closed behind him and carrying a small duffel bag in one hand. It was red and blue—Spiderman printed, I noticed.

Sam was in front of his grandfather, trying to pull off his sneakers. He looked up at his mother and smiled brightly, and my heart practically exploded in my chest.

I leaned sideways against the wall to steady myself as Sam came racing down the hall, little feet thudding on the hardwood, to throw himself in Jo’s arms as she dropped to a squat just in front of me. Sam buried his face in her hair, and she stood, hugging him tightly.

“I missed you, kiddo,” she said, kissing the side of his head. Then she went to her father and gave him a sideways hug. “How are you, Dad?”

“Good, sweetheart,” Grandpa Hart said. Then his gaze swung up to meet mine, and he nodded in recognition. “Mr. Flynn.”

“Mr. Hart,” I said, matching his formal introduction with one of my own.

Jo looked back and forth between us. “I wasn’t sure if you’d remember each other.”

“I remember Zachary all right.” Grandpa Hart chuckled. “He and Ryan spent their teenage years torturing your mother and me.”

I grinned sheepishly and scratched the back of my neck. “Ryan was always a better kid than I was.”

Grandpa Hart shrugged as he came down the hall and then shook my hand. “You were never a bad kid, Zachary.”

Jo put Sam down, and he wrapped his arms around her right leg then craned his neck to peer up at me. He wore glasses, like his grandfather, and the lenses were quite thick, making his eyes look quite large. He had brown hair with a reddish tinge, a splash of freckles across his nose, and hazel eyes—the exact same shade as mine.

Good lord, I hoped Grandpa Hart didn’t notice.

Besides that, he looked like Jo to me.

“Sam, this is my friend, Zach. He and your Uncle Ryan have been friends for a long time, too.” Jo introduced me to our son, and Sam looked from her to me. He gave me a weak smile and then shifted so that he was tucked tighter behind his mother.

I stayed where I was a good distance away but went down to one knee. “Hi, Sam,” I said softly. “Your mom has been telling me all about you. I was hoping maybe some time you would show me some of your cool stuff? I hear you have a pretty awesome chemistry set.”

Sam nodded, and his smile pressed dimples into his cheeks. “Okay,” he said, still a little shy.

I smiled and nodded. “Great. You just let me know when you want to show me, and I’ll be ready.”

“Okay,” he said again, this time with a bit more enthusiasm.

I straightened, and Jo gave me the brightest smile I’d ever seen. Then she patted Sam’s head and cleared her throat. “There’s leftover bacon and eggs in the kitchen. You hungry, Dad?”

Grandpa Hart gave me a curious look but then nodded to his daughter. “You know me. I’m always hungry. Come on, you lot. Let’s sit and chat and pig out on bacon.” He chuckled. “Pardon the pun.”

“Dad,” Jo moaned, rolling her eyes to the ceiling as he hurried by her and made for the kitchen, his stomach rumbling as he went.