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him more credit. He’s strong. He can handle the truth. And he needs to be able to make his own decisions.” Wyatt motioned toward the bedroom.

      “No one is arguing that, Wyatt,” Christina said, trying to come to Eloise’s aid. “It’s just that we need to make sure he’s ready.”

      “Come on,” Wyatt said, shaking his head. “No one’s ever really ready to be a parent. Even if you think you are ready, it’s not until you’re thrown into the situation that you really know what you’re in for.”

      Eloise smiled as she raised her brow. “Is there something you two need to tell us?” She rubbed a small circle on her lower belly.

      Gwen’s mouth dropped open. “No... I... Not yet...” she stammered.

      Wyatt chuckled. “Mom, come on. Don’t tease her.”

      Eloise laughed. “There’s nothing wrong with me hoping for a few more grandchildren. It’s never too soon to start trying.” She gave them all a little wiggle of the finger. “Little Miss Winnie needs a partner in crime.”

      Gwen’s face was bright red, and Wyatt had started to take on a sweaty sheen. Christina felt for them and the pressure the matron of the family was putting on them. At least she wasn’t in their shoes. She might be asked about her relationship status all the time—it was the curse of being over twenty-three and not married—but those questions were far easier to field when compared to talk about babies.

      Thankfully, before any more uncomfortable questions, the door to Winnie’s room opened. They all went silent.

      Waylon walked into the kitchen. He frowned. “What’s going on? Why are you guys so quiet?”

      Eloise smiled. “What, kiddo? We aren’t being quiet. We were just waiting on you two rascals to be done playing around before we sit down to eat.” She motioned to the roast, once again taking control of the situation like a master.

      Christina smiled. She could learn a few things from Eloise.

      “Okay.” From the way Waylon stood there looking at his mother for a moment, it was easy to see he didn’t believe her, but he didn’t press them further. He shook his head and turned away from them toward the hall. “If you are all ready, I’m proud to present Princess Leonia of Leo Land and her cat, Mr. Puffy Face.” He gave an over-the-top whirl of the hand and a deep, exaggerated bow.

      He stood up and started to hum the theme song for the Miss America pageant. Christina couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her. It was surreal to be watching the oh-so-handsome MP doing tongue trills for the entrance of a two-year-old.

      Winnie marched into the kitchen. Her walk was more like the cowgirl she was instead of the princess she was pretending to be. She had on the pink Sleeping Beauty gown, her bandaged arm was wrapped with tinfoil to make it look like a clunky sword and she wore a foil crown. The crumpled and uneven crown had two large spikes Christina was sure were supposed to be purely decorative but looked conspicuously like devil horns.

      Winnie had on bright pink lipstick that was smeared over her teeth as she smiled, and it was heavy on the left side of her mouth, like Waylon had pressed too hard while applying. Winnie smiled brightly, the motion filling her eyes with joy.

      Oh, what it would have been to be a child once again, to find true, unadulterated joy in things most stodgy adults thought ridiculous. It would have been so nice to go back to those moments in life, where a thing like playing dress-up was all it took to forget one’s troubles. There were no concerns of what was to come, bills that needed to be paid or the things that were required to make another person happy. There was just one pink dress and one ill-fitting tinfoil crown.

      Wyatt leaned in close so only Christina could hear him. “He isn’t perfect, neither is his life, but maybe he wouldn’t be such a bad dad after all.”

      He hadn’t needed to tell her what she was already thinking. Some things—like the look of pride that Waylon was giving Winnie—spoke volumes about what it meant to truly love. And love was the only thing that really mattered.

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