She laughed. “No, it’s even better.” Sitting next to me on her knees, she leaned over and picked up the Restoration Hardware catalog and opened it up. “I am going to read you a bedtime story in my sexiest voice.”

I burst out laughing and took another bite. “Do it.”

She opened the book to a random page, inhaled, and looked at me with sultry eyes. “The reclaimed rustic oak collection.”

“Mmmmm,” I moaned. “Tell me more.”

Posing seductively, she spoke in a breathy, sex kitten voice. Whenever she got to words related to wood, she’d look me in the eye and arch her brows. “Celebrating the organic beauty of salvaged wood, our table is handcrafted of solid oak timbers reclaimed from decades-old buildings.”

“God, you’re making me hard.” Groaning, I shoved the rest of the donut in my mouth. “Can I jerk off while you read?”

She was trying to stay serious, but a smile was creeping onto her lips. “Rough-hewn planks define a simple parsons style, allowing the oak’s rustic character to take center stage. Each one-of-a-kind table displays the nicks, knots, and imperfections that speak to the wood’s former life.”

“You’re killing me. This is so hot.” I reached for the book and set it aside. “But the imperfections of the wood’s former life don’t matter.”

She laughed. “No?”

“No.” I pulled her across my lap, cradling her in my arms. “What matters is here and now, and you know what? Here and now is pretty fucking perfect.”

Smiling, she looped her arms around my neck. “I agree.”

I pressed my lips to hers. “I love you, Sylvia Sawyer. And I might never be able to give you fancy things, but I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

“I believe you with my whole heart.” She gave me that smile, the one that would melt my insides for the rest of my life. “And I don’t want fancy things, Henry. I’ll take your time and attention over expensive gifts any day. I just want to belong to you.”

“You do. And I belong to you.” I kissed her once more, and knew in my heart that with these words, we were putting down roots that would be forever intertwined. “We belong together.”

Epilogue: Sylvia

“I’m sorry. Could you say that again?” I asked Dr. Kelson, a dark-skinned woman with kind eyes and a soft voice.

“The test is positive. You’re pregnant,” she said firmly.

“I can’t be. I’m infertile.”

She looked at the results again. “Not according to this.”

“But my eggs.” I shook my head, feeling dizzy and disoriented and sick to my stomach, which was why I was here in the first place. “My eggs aren’t good. They’re past their due date.”