Three years later, Fox was standing in the middle of their kitchen holding a positive pregnancy test and laughing like sheâd just been dared to do something reckless.
Dav walked in mid-laugh.
âWhat did I miss?â he asked, dropping his gym bag by the door.
She turned slowly, holding the test up between two fingers like it was evidence in a trial.
His brain took a second.
Then another.
Thenâ
âYouâre kidding.â
She shook her head.
His face went through every emotion in about five seconds, shock, disbelief, pure boyish excitement, mild panic, and then something steadier.
âFox.â
It wasnât a question.
She nodded once.
He crossed the room in three long strides and picked her up off the floor.
âDav!â she yelped, half-laughing.
âWeâre having a baby?â he said into her hair like he needed to hear it out loud.
âWe are.â
He set her down gently this time, hands still gripping her waist like she might disappear.
âYou okay?â
She studied him. âYou?â
He exhaled a shaky laugh. âTerrified. Excited. Slightly nauseous in solidarity.â
She grinned. âYouâre dramatic.â
âShut up. This is big.â
It was big.
They had built a life already, the studio had grown, his fitness business was thriving, their apartment had turned into a home filled with mismatched furniture and framed memories. But this?
This was different.
This wasnât heat and flirting and tension.
This was forever with fingerprints.
â
Pregnancy suited Fox in ways she hadnât expected.
She still worked. Still designed. Still challenged Dav over who got control of the thermostat.
But something softened around her edges.
Dav became borderline ridiculous.
He read books. So many books. He learned about trimester nutrition like he was studying for an exam. He talked to her stomach before it even showed.
âHi, tiny human,â heâd murmur, kneeling in front of her. âIâm your dad. I make good omelets.â
Fox would roll her eyes, but sheâd be smiling every time.
âYou realize it canât hear you yet.â
âConfidence,â heâd reply.
âDelusion.â
When she finally started showing, he became protective in the most subtle ways. A hand at her lower back in crowded places. An arm around her waist on stairs. Quiet check-ins.
âYou good?â
âFine.â
âSure?â
âDav.â
But she leaned into him every single time.
â
The night their daughter was born, Dav didnât make jokes.
He held Foxâs hand and didnât let go once. Not when she squeezed hard enough to bruise. Not when she snapped at him. Not when she went quiet with focus.
âYouâve got this,â he said, over and over. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just steady.
When the cry finally split the air, Foxâs breath broke with it.
Dav looked wrecked.
Completely undone.
They placed the tiny, furious, red-faced human in Foxâs arms.
She stared down at her.
Dav leaned in close, voice cracking just slightly. âSheâs loud.â
Fox laughed weakly. âSheâs yours.â
He kissed her forehead, then the babyâs head.
âHi,â he whispered. âWeâve been waiting for you.â
They named her Mira.
â
Sleep disappeared for a while.
Romance looked different.
It looked like Dav walking the floor at 3 a.m. with a screaming newborn while Fox finally slept.
It looked like Fox handing him coffee without a word when he had an early training session.
It looked like kisses stolen over a baby monitor.
One night, when Mira was finally asleep, Fox collapsed onto the couch beside him.
âWe used to be fun,â she said tiredly.
Dav glanced at her. âWe are fun.â
She gestured vaguely. âWe havenât been out in months.â
He reached over, tugging her into his lap like muscle memory.
âWe built a human,â he said. âThatâs pretty metal.â
She huffed a laugh.
He brushed hair out of her face, she hadnât done it in hours.
âYouâre still you,â he said quietly. âYouâre just⊠more.â
Her throat tightened.
âYou donât miss before?â she asked softly.
He kissed her slow. Familiar. Certain.
âBefore led to this.â
That shut her up.
And later that night, when the house was finally quiet, they remembered they were still them.
Still heat. Still spark.
Just⊠deeper now.
â
Five years later, the apartment was louder.
Mira had grown into a fierce, opinionated little person with Foxâs stare and Davâs grin.
And there was a baby boy now too, Leo, permanently sticky and endlessly curious.
The studio had expanded into a larger space. The fitness center had a second location.
Life was full.
Messy.
Chaotic.
Beautiful.
One Saturday morning, Fox stood at the stove flipping pancakes while Leo clung to her leg and Mira argued with Dav about dinosaurs at the table.
âBrachiosaurus is taller!â Mira insisted.
âTyrannosaurus wins in a fight,â Dav countered.
Fox turned. âWhy are we fighting dinosaurs before 9 a.m.?â
âImportant household matters,â Dav replied solemnly.
She shook her head, but she was smiling.
He caught her eye across the room.
And just like that. It was there.
That same current from the rooftop years ago.
Different shape. Same heat.
Later, after sticky fingers were washed and cartoons negotiated, the kids finally went down for naps at the same time.
Fox stepped into the living room and found Dav stretched on the couch.
He held out a hand without looking.
She took it automatically.
He pulled her down onto him, just like before.
âHi,â he murmured.
âHi.â
They lay there in the quiet.
âYouâre staring,â she said softly.
âObserving.â
She smiled. âAnd?â
âYou still look like youâre about to dare someone.â
She leaned down and kissed him slow.
âMaybe I am.â
His hands slid to her hips instinctively. Familiar territory. Familiar heat.
âWe have twenty minutes,â he said.
She grinned. âConfident.â
âEfficient.â
She laughed into his mouth, but she didnât move away.
The spark hadnât dulled.
It had matured.
It wasnât reckless anymore.
It was chosen.
And later, when the kids burst into the room far too early from their naps, Fox and Dav pulled apart just in time, breathless and grinning like teenagers who hadnât quite grown up.
Mira squinted at them suspiciously.
âWhy are you smiling like that?â
Fox and Dav exchanged a look.
Dav cleared his throat. âBecause we like pancakes.â
Fox elbowed him.
But when she met his eyes again, she saw it.
Not just attraction.
Not just history.
Partnership.
Desire.
Friendship.
All of it tangled together.
She wasnât at the edge anymore.
She wasnât daring him to stay.
He already had.
And somehow, after years and children and sleepless nights and loud mornings, their feelings were still burning strong.
