The sight brought an immediate smile to my face. The bonfire was set up, ready to be lit at sunset, and our friends had already staked out their seats.

Garrett and Sawyer manned the grill while Javier lectured and Christina laughed at something her husband had said.

“I said I would help!” Paisley chided as we carried the food past the giant, empty sunshade and put it on the table.

“You’re not supposed to be carrying things,” Sam lectured.

“I’m pregnant, not useless,” she grumbled.

“And how is little Ms. Bateman?” Sam asked, hunching to put her hands on Paisley’s growing belly.

“I’m still voting he’s a Mr. Bateman,” Ember stated with a smile.

Sam scoffed. “No way. I’m telling you this little one is going to skew the scale to the girl side in the Bateman household. Aren’t you?”

Paisley rolled her eyes. “Whatever this baby is, it’s the last in the Bateman household, that’s for sure. Three kids under five will be more than enough.”

“But you make such pretty babies,” I pouted, throwing my arm over her shoulder as Sam stood.

“Speak for yourself, Morgan Montgomery.”

I glanced down at my wedding ring, smiling as it twinkled in the sunlight. It had been over a year, and I still got giddy whenever I heard my new name.

“However many we have, you have to admit, they’re freaking cute,” Ember said with a laugh, pointing toward the beach. “And I don’t just mean the babies.”

My heart melted, and we all headed in their direction.

The guys stood in a line, just far enough that waves came over their feet, all decked out with various sizes of baby carriers.

Josh stood on the left, wearing his and Ember’s two-year-old, Quinn, in a rugged, framed backpack. Next to him stood Jagger, with Annabelle, his and Paisley’s thirteen-month-old, in a front carrier. Then came Grayson, who somehow managed to look even bigger with Delaney, his and Sam’s fifteen-month-old, strapped to his chest. Finley walked Peyton through the smaller waves just in front of them.

And then there was Jackson.

My Jackson.

I slipped my hand into his and peeked at our sleeping son, who was tucked away in the sling Jackson wore. Grant was three months old, and he was…everything. His little breaths were even through his tiny, perfect lips, and Jackson had him completely shielded from the sun as he napped peacefully. We’d named him after Jackson’s father, and all three of us had fallen in love with those big, blue eyes at first sight.

Jackson pressed a kiss on my forehead and slid his arm around my waist, pulling me close. He was an amazing father—no news there—and Finley had jumped headfirst into the role of adoring older sister. We were now a family of four…with six pets.