The garden behind Hank and June's home was strung with pastel lanterns and golden fairy lights that shimmered like stars waiting for dusk. Clara's first birthday had arrived, and the house hummed with the warmth of family and love. It was a soft summer afternoon, the kind that begged to be remembered.
June stood beneath the archway of pink and lavender balloons, holding Clara against her hip. Her daughter clutched a wooden rattle in one hand and a ribbon in the other, eyes wide with wonder at the streamers blowing in the breeze.
"You pulled it off," Ava said, stepping beside her. She looked radiant despite her second-trimester belly and the toddler clinging to her leg. "Everything's perfect."
June gave her a grateful smile. "I didn't think we'd get here, you know? A year ago, I was terrified. And now… she's one."
"She's also trying to eat that balloon," Ava pointed out, laughing as Clara attempted exactly that.
Across the garden, Hank and Jamie were setting up a game for the kids—ring toss using mason jars and tiny animal-shaped rings. Thomas, ever the competitive four-year-old, had declared himself the "Game Master" and was assigning points to everything, including how fast people clapped after each toss.
When Hank looked up and caught June's eye, he gave her the look he always did when he was quietly overwhelmed with love—soft, certain, and just for her.
The party unfolded like a dream stitched together by music and giggles.
There were little sandwiches in the shapes of stars, a hand-drawn sign reading "Clara's Garden Party", and homemade cupcakes topped with edible flowers. Clara sat in her high chair for the big moment, a floral crown crooked on her curls, reaching for the candle as everyone sang.
Thomas stood beside her, holding her tiny hand and whispering, "Make a good wish, okay?"
Clara's chubby fists clapped along with everyone, and June leaned over to help her blow out the candle. The wish, unspoken, wrapped itself into the breeze—a silent prayer from a mother who once feared she'd never have this moment.
After presents and cake and photo after photo, the sky slipped into a dusky rose. Jamie offered to take Thomas back early so Ava could rest. Guests began to drift away with hugs and laughter, promising to text pictures and recipes.
By the time the yard emptied, the fairy lights still twinkled, and silence gently returned.
June stood barefoot in the grass, her daughter asleep inside, the house dim and quiet.
Hank approached from behind, arms wrapping around her waist. "You made magic today."
"We made it," she whispered, leaning into him. "She's finally ours. And she's perfect."
He nuzzled into her neck, his voice low. "You're glowing."
"Maybe it's the cupcake frosting still on my dress," she teased.
"No," he murmured. "It's you. It's always you."
The words settled deep, warm and slow.
She turned in his arms, their bodies close in the hush of the garden. Her hands moved up his chest, fingertips trailing over the buttons of his shirt. "I've missed you," she said softly.
He kissed her forehead, her temple, the tip of her nose. "I'm right here."
"I know. But now it's just us. For the first time in weeks."
His eyes darkened with something soft and hungry. "We should change that."
She smiled, then took his hand and led him inside.
Later That Night
The house was silent except for the sound of the soft rain that had begun to tap gently against the windows. Clara slept soundly, her soft breathing coming from the nursery monitor.
In the master bathroom, the lights were dimmed to a glow, candles flickering along the edge of the deep tub. The mirror was fogged as steam filled the air. The rain outside mingled with the quiet water sounds inside.
June stood under the shower, letting the heat soak into her skin, washing away the day's chaos. Her hair clung to her neck and shoulders, and her thoughts slowed.
Hank entered silently, shirtless, his gaze sweeping over her like reverent hands. Without a word, he stepped in behind her, arms wrapping around her soaked body, pulling her back into him.
She melted against him.
His lips found the curve of her neck, slow and steady. One hand slid across her stomach, the other up her ribs to rest beneath her breast. Her breath caught.
"I want to remember tonight," he murmured, lips brushing her ear. "The way you looked in the garden, holding her. The way you're trembling now."
"Hank..."
He turned her gently, pressing her back against the warm tile, and looked into her eyes. "Let me love you. All of you. Like this."
She nodded, lips parting.
What followed was unhurried, a dance of mouths and hands, of water tracing skin and hearts pressed too close to separate. He dropped to his knees beneath the stream, trailing kisses from her thighs upward, worshipping every inch of her with lips and tongue, devotion etched into each breathless second.
June clung to the fogged glass behind her, her knees threatening to buckle as Hank coaxed wave after wave of pleasure from her. He held her steady, his eyes never leaving hers until her soft cries melted into moans and then silence.
When he rose, she pulled him to her, their kiss deep and slow, as if time itself had stilled.
Later, wrapped in a towel and each other's arms, they curled into bed with the monitor softly crackling on the nightstand.
June traced circles on Hank's chest. "She's going to grow up so fast."
"We'll keep making memories," he said. "One slow, perfect day at a time."
She smiled. "Just promise me you'll always save the last dance for me."
Hank kissed the top of her head. "Every time."