Tiffany laughs. “That would be fine with me as long as it’s from you.”

  “Come on, guys, who’s got the rings?”

  Neve raises her hand. “Mummy?”

  "Hold on, honey. Mummy’s having a freak out right now,” Elle tells her.

  Neve stands up on her chair, waving her arm around, and a sneaking suspicion starts in my gut. “Neve, do you know where the rings are?” I ask, and she nods wildly.

  “Mummy,” she says, pointing at Elle.

  I look back to Elle, who suddenly flushes. “Oh, shit, I have the rings. It’s my job.” She laughs at her own forgetfulness, pulling the rings from her back pocket.

  Colton helps Neve sit down, whispering, “Good job. We have to watch out for Mummy, don’t we? She’s forgetful sometimes.”

  Colton taps Neve on the head, and she copies him, tapping his head.

  “Since we now have rings, we can continue,” Elle intones seriously, as if she didn’t cause the drama herself. “You wrote your own vows. So, Dad, I’ll turn it over to you.”

  I turn to Tiffany and take her hands, looking into her beautiful eyes. We kept our vows secret from each other, and I hope she feels what I’m trying to express.

  “Tiffany, it took me so long to get my head out of my . . . butt, but when I did, you hit me like a ton of bricks. I fell for you hard, and I’ve fallen for you forever. You’re the love of my life, the mother of our child. So, I’m going to dare you, Tiffany. I dare you to be your best self. To seize happiness in your hands. To love with the same fierce intensity that you have your whole life. I dare you to do these things with me at your side, loving you through it all. I dare you to share the burden you always carry on your shoulders with me. To hold me accountable, and to call me out if I ever do less than the same in return. I love you and vow to be the best husband I can be.”

  Tiffany blinks, her eyes flashing with joy at each ‘dare’ I’ve laid out.

  “Daniel, you’re my truth,” Tiffany says, taking a deep breath. “For so long, I didn’t recognize that, lost in the fantasy of a crush. But when I got to know the real you, the truth became clear. I couldn’t deny it. I love you, and that’s the truest thing I know. My love has become our love, and even then, it’s become deeper, richer, and more than I ever thought possible. I vow to be your wife, to love you, to bring you Thai food when you work late, and to drag you home when late becomes too late. To help with that, I vow to give you a reason to come home, a joy that only we can create together. I vow to love you with the same intensity that you bring to everything . . . and I dare you to be the best father you can be.” She smirks. “Ad-libbed that last one.”

  We exchange our rings, declaring our love and the more formal ‘I thee wed’ lines, and then it’s time for the main event.

  “By the powers vested in me by the ‘Get Ordained in Twenty Minutes or Less’ website, I now declare you husband and wife. You may kiss your husband!”

  Elle’s last little twist stops me, and Tiffany swoops in, pulling me in for a deep, tender kiss that has everyone clapping and cheering. Ace’s is the loudest of the cheers, hooting before declaring, “Get you some, Tiffany!”

  We walk down the aisle and into our bedroom. I have half a mind to begin our wedding night now, but Elle is loudly directing everyone to the dining table for dinner.

  “They’ll be right back out. Tiff probably just needs to pee.” Louder, she says, “Because they know that I will come in there and pull them out by their hair in five, four, three . . .”

  Not willing to risk it because I know Elle’s isn’t bluffing, I press a quick kiss to Tiffany’s mouth, wanting to feel her smile.

  “We did it!” she whispers. “I’m Mrs. Tiffany Stryker!” She squeals, stomping her feet in an adorable dance beneath her dress.

  “Ready?” I ask, my hand on the knob. When she nods, I open the door, and we rejoin our friends and family.

  We sit down at my big dining table, which for the first time in too long is full of smiling faces.

  I sit at the ‘head corner’, Tiffany at my side, our thighs touching intimately under the table. Still, as we eat—and yes, I make sure Tiffany eats enough for her and the baby—I can’t stop running my thumb over her skin, tracing the gold band that encircles her finger. It’s so little of a thing, a few ounces of gold, but I’m overwhelmed at the thought that she willingly took my ring on her finger so everyone knows that she is mine.

  I glance to the matching gold band on my left hand. I never thought I’d marry again, but here I am. And yeah, it’s not a big thing, the ring.

  But it’s the biggest thing in the world to me because of the woman it represents. I’m in love with the most amazing woman in the world, happily married and about to be a father again.

  I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  My future isn’t merely with Tiffany. She is my future. That’s the truth.

  Though she’s listening to Ace tell a story about a wolf rescue organization that he and Harper visited on their honeymoon, Tiffany looks my way as if she can hear me thinking about her. “You okay?”

  I nod, giving her a heartfelt smile. “Never better.”

  Tiffany leans in, kissing me on the cheek. “I love you, Mr. Stryker.”

  “I love you too, Mrs. Stryker . . . and Mini-Stryker.”

  Tiffany’s eyes go dark, and she leans over to whisper in my ear. “Is it too soon to send everyone home?”

  “The truth? Probably. We just cut the cake. But . . . I dare you,” I say with a smirk.

  I shouldn’t have said that. It’s too soon. We’ve barely finished dinner and begun dessert, and everyone is chatting happily. And Tiffany isn’t one to back away from a dare.

  But just as importantly, I want to be alone with my wife. So I’m not surprised when Tiffany stands up and lifts her glass of sparkling juice. “Everyone, thank you for coming, but it’s been a long day and I need to rest. Would it be rude if I kicked everyone out?”

  Elle grins. “Rest? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

  Ace plugs his ears. “I don’t want to hear this.”

  Tiffany frowns and points to her brother. “You just got back from your honeymoon. Four days in a sun-drenched paradise, and you came back just as pasty assed as you were when you left. So don’t tell me what you can’t hear. Shoo!” She waves her hand, encouraging him toward the door.

  Ace laughs in defeat, helping Harper up, probably just as eager to get his bride home too. And now that I think about it . . . he is a little pale for a man who had a short honeymoon in the Keys.

  I stand too, helping move things along. “Yes, thank you all so much. It means everything to us that you were here for us today. I did promise each of you that I’d make sure Tiffany didn’t overdo it, though.”

  That’s enough to get Tiffany’s parents moving. Especially her mom, who I’m sure is convinced Tiffany’s about to fall apart at the slightest breeze. “Are you feeling okay, honey?” she asks anxiously. “I started feeling better in my second trimester, so just a little longer.”

  Tiffany handles it well, which basically means not rolling her eyes so hard they fall out of her skull. “Thanks, Mom. I’m fine. Just a long day.”

  I get it. Renee is excited about their impending grandchild, which I can completely understand, even though Neve is currently rubbing cake into her hair with her fingers.

  Once everyone leaves and it’s just us, I take Tiffany in my arms.

  The living room is a mess, but I don’t care. The housekeeper knows what’s happening and is prepared to come in tomorrow around one to handle it.

  That should be enough time for us to celebrate, sleep, and then order in brunch.

  “Mrs. Stryker, may I have this dance?” I ask Tiffany, holding out a hand.

  Tiffany takes my hand with a smile, putting her other arm on my shoulder. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Something that ends up back in the bedroom, and then . . . well, I’m sure we’ll figure it out,” I tell her as we start to sway.

  There’s no music except the music in our hearts, but as my wife presses her body against mine, it’s all the music I need.

  Epilogue

  Daniel

  The glow.

  I thought it was a myth, something people told pregnant women to make up for the fact that they were struggling while trying to make another human being inside their bodies.

  But seeing Tiffany, her belly rock hard and her face shiny with sweat, I know it’s real. I’ve seen it on my wife’s face for the past nine months as our baby grew inside her. I’ve seen it as she’s handled the challenges of new duties at work, because dammit, she was right.

  No more invisible workers at Fox Industries. Everyone matters.

  Right now isn’t about work, though . . . or at least, not my work.

  “Okay, Tiffany,” Dr. Reynolds, our OB/GYN, says as she squats between Tiffany’s legs, looking suspiciously like a baseball catcher, “one more big push when I tell you to. Okay?”

  Tiffany nods, looking up at me. “Ready?”

  I swallow nervously, giving her hand a squeeze in answer. “I’m right here.”

  If I could do this for her, I would. But that’s not how it works, so all I can do is stand by supportively and remember to breathe so I don’t miss everything by becoming the patient.

  “And . . . PUSH!” Dr. Reynolds says, and Tiffany bears down. We’ve done all the prep together, the classes and books, the discussions and decisions, but this part is all her. Tiffany working with her body to bring our child into the world.

  I sweep the hair back from her forehead, whispering in her ear, “Good girl, you’re doing it. You’re so amazing, so strong.”

  She squeezes my hand hard, the bones creaking painfully, but all I’m aware of is the look of pain contorting her face. That hurts me more than anything she’s doing to my hand.

  Tiffany grunts from deep in her chest, and suddenly, there’s this sound, something wet and huge and mobile, and then a little cry fills the air.

  Tiffany gasps, tears mixing with the sweat to pour down her cheeks. “Is that—”

  “A very healthy-looking baby boy,” Dr. Reynolds says, laying the baby on Tiffany’s belly. I’m trying to see, but a nurse is rubbing a towel over him to clean him up.

  “He’s beautiful,” Tiffany cries, lost in the most wondrous moment of joy.

  “Yes, you are,” I whisper to her. She doesn’t hear me, but that’s okay.

  The doctor places clamps on the cord, holding out a pair of scissors. “Dad, do you want the honors?” I take the scissors, looking at my son and my wife. I can’t believe this is my life now. I never would’ve dreamed it, but I’m damn glad Tiffany did.

  My hand shakes a little as I move the scissors, not from nerves but with the gravity of the moment. But once it’s done, the nurse wraps our little boy up like a burrito.

  Tiffany holds out her arms, and they hand the baby back to her. I hover over them both, vowing over and over to protect and love them. Tiffany looks up at me in wonder. “Look what we did. What we made.”

  “We did good,” I tell her. Her eyes drop back to the bundle in her arms, and mine follow. “He’s beautiful.”

  Every parent thinks that about their baby, even when they come out red and wrinkly with a smushy face. But our boy actually is beautiful. Beneath the little hat, he has a shock of dark, thick hair like his mother, and his eyes open to reveal a blue quite similar to mine.

  I lean forward to press a kiss to his forehead. “Hi there, Nate.”

  Tiffany has had crazy pregnancy dreams for months. She says the first one was when she was passed out, but they haven’t stopped since then. Mostly, she wakes up laughing as she tells me about conversations she’s had with our dream baby, but a few months ago, she had a different sort of dream.

  “We were in the park, flying a kite with a toddler. And then you swooped him up, Superman-ing him through the air, teasing that he was a kite and might blow away. He was so happy, his little giggles so loud. And he squealed out, calling for me, and I answered back, ‘You’re the cutest kite I’ve ever seen, Nate!’ It was like this sense of peace filled me, and I knew everything was going to be okay. We’re going to be a happy family—you, me, and Nate.”

  How do you argue with that?

  I’ll tell you—you don’t.

  And our son has been Nate ever since. Seeing him now, it makes sense. He is a Nate.

  Once everything is cleaned up and the room looks like a regular hospital room again, Dr. Reynolds and the nurses leave us alone for some family time.

  We watch Nate, just staring at him in disbelief that he’s finally here.

  He yawns, falling asleep, and we both coo over him for a moment, entranced. Yes, it’s just a baby yawning. No, it’s not a huge trick. But he’s our son.

  Unbidden, I yawn in answer, and Tiffany laughs. "You're tired? Really?"

  I shrug sheepishly, and Tiffany gingerly scoots over in the bed to make room. “Get up here then.”

  I do not need to be told twice to snuggle with my wife and son. Just as carefully, I slowly lie down next to Tiffany, sliding an arm beneath her head so that she can lean against my chest. Nate rests between us in Tiffany’s arms.

  I never thought this would be the life I’d be living—married to my daughter’s best friend, the incredible woman who made me trust in love again, and holding a new baby at fifty. It’s an age where a lot of men are looking at putting life on cruise control.

  Me? I’m looking forward to the adventure the next few decades are going to bring.

  Maybe after that, I’ll think about getting old. The truth is, while I never knew I wanted this, it’s everything I need now.

  I kiss Tiffany’s forehead and then the top of Nate’s head one last time. “I love you both so much.”

  Tiffany, who’s closed her eyes, smiles sleepily. “I love you too, Daddy.”

  Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. If so, make sure to check out Elle and Colton’s story, The Dare. You’ll get to see more Tiffany, Daniel, and the whole gang.

  Excerpt: The Dare

  Prologue

  Elle

  “When you’re ready, gimme that nod, darlin’!” The guy’s voice is loud over the din surrounding me and there’s definitely a false note to his twang.

  Poser . . . but damn, does he look great in those skintight jeans that leave nothing to the imagination. He’s going for the ‘what you see is what you get’ look and it’s serving him up to every pair of eyes in this place.

  No judgement, though. It’s not like I’m any different.

  I watched a YouTube video to get my cutoff shorts just right, I borrowed a pair of cowgirl boots with actual fringe, and I’m wearing an add-a-size pushup bra to make my breasts look bigger as they nearly bounce out of my low-cut tank top. I look like Daisy Duke and a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader got together, and I’m their style-baby creation for a reality television show called So You Wanna Be a Sexy Cowgirl?

  How did I end up here, anyway?

  Here is a honkytonk on the rough side of town, when I don’t even know how to two-step or line dance or any of the other stuff I’ve been doing all night.

  Here is with my long legs wrapped around the vinyl of a mechanical bull and a cowboy I don’t know straddling me from behind. Apparently, we’re riding together, which seems unprofessional but also completely improper, so I’m down for it.

  Here is in that moment I live for. I wait for my blood to sing through me and to feel its hot burn from the top of my head to the tips of toes and everywhere in between.

  Anticipation. Excitement. Restlessness.

  All so loud inside my head that everything else is shut out. There’s no real world, no pain, no doubts, only hope that the next dare will leave me adrenalin-filled and buzzing, high on the danger and risk.

  It’s my favorite moment, right on the edge of greatness.

  Another voice whispers in my ear, “You’re not having second thoughts, are you? Give the man his nod and let’s ride, baby.”

  I’m not this guy’s baby, but the high flows through me and I look to the bull man. His eyes are hungry, whether for me or to watch me fall off this thing, I’m not sure, but it’s all the same.

  I nod, and my last conscious thought is that he has a pretty smile before everything in my head becomes a shout.

  Hang on! Squeeze with your knees! Grip the rope!

  I’ve got the knot of the length of rope in one hand, my free hand waving around like a maniac for about zero-point-two seconds. Then I give in and grab the knot with both hands. It’s not pro-style, but I don’t give a shit as I hoot and holler and hold on for dear life.

  Behind me, the cowboy whose name I don’t even know has his arms wrapped around me to fist the base of the rope, which suddenly seems very phallic with both our hands gripping it. His thighs squeeze me as he pulls me back against him with every jerking move of the machine beneath us. I can feel him, hard and long against my ass when we bump together, which has to hurt because we’re not talking an easy jostling here.

  But the operator must be in cahoots with Cowboy because the rhythm becomes less jerky. Instead, we spin a bit but the forward and backward movement is smooth and wavelike. Cowboy’s grunts don’t sound so much like work to hang on now. Instead, he’s groaning in my ear like he’s enjoying this a little too much.

  But still, I hold on, praying for the eight.

  Bump-bump-bump.

  One last maneuver has Cowboy bouncing against my ass, and if there weren’t two layers of denim between us, I have no doubt he’d easily slip right inside me with those thrusts.

  The thought makes me unsteady, and I lose my grip, slipping off to the side. Cowboy tries to save me, but I fall from the circle of his arms, my legs flying up in the air as I bounce to the cushions below the bull.

  The crowd cheers all around me, and my eyes jump to the digital readout.

  Nine point five.

  I wait for the second-best feeling to wash through me. Success, accomplishment, power.