"Ivy's pregnant. Owen just told me."
Her face lights up. "Oh my God! That's amazing! June's going to have a cousin!"
She immediately starts texting Ivy while I text Owen back with congratulations and threats about what I'll do to him if he doesn't take good care of her. He responds with a middle finger emoji and a heart, which is very on-brand.
"We should send them something," Maya says. "Maybe a basket from that place we liked on Main Street?"
"Good idea." I'm already pulling up the website. "And we should plan a big family dinner when we get back. Celebrate properly."
"Obviously." She's still grinning, clearly thrilled at the prospect of June having a playmate. "This is so exciting."
June, oblivious to the news that she's going to be a big cousin, is more interested in trying to eat her stuffed rabbit's ear.
We spend the rest of the afternoon feeding June, taking a walk around Cedar Falls so Maya can check out potential supplier locations, stopping for ice cream at a local shop. It's comfortable and normal and everything I never knew I needed.
That night, after June is asleep in the portable crib we brought, Maya and I curl up on the hotel bed with a bottle of local wine and the notes from yesterday's service.
"Table twelve wants to know if we'll do the coq au vin as a regular menu item," Maya reads from her phone. "And the mayor asked if we cater events."
"We should consider the catering," I muse. "Extra revenue stream, good community presence."
"Agreed. I'll look into requirements and staffing needs." She makes a note. "Also, the local newspaper wants to do a feature on us. The reporter was at opening night and loved everything."
"Set it up. Good press never hurts."
We continue reviewing notes and planning, falling into the familiar rhythm of collaboration that's defined our relationship from the start. Maya challenges my ideas, I refine hers, and somewhere in the middle, we find solutions that are better than either of us could have created alone.
Eventually, we set aside the work and just exist together, her head on my shoulder, my arm around her waist.
"Can you believe we did this?" she asks softly. "Sometimes I still feel like that nervous kitchen helper who could barely believe you hired her."
"I can believe it. You're brilliant, Maya. You always have been." I press a kiss to her hair. "I'm just glad I was smart enough to see it."
"You were smart enough to eventually see it," she corrects with a smile. "After being a grump for two weeks."
"I was protecting myself from falling for you."
"How'd that work out?"
"Terribly. Fell for you anyway." I tilt her chin up so I can kiss her properly. "Best failure of my life."
She kisses me back, and I'm reminded all over again how lucky I am. How this woman took a chance on a grumpy chef with control issues and somehow saw past all my defenses to the person underneath.
How she made me better—as a chef, as a partner, as a father, as a human being.
"Thank you," I tell her when we break apart.
"For what?"
"For pushing me to take risks. For believing in us when I was too scared to. For building this life with me." I gesture vaguely at the room, the town beyond, everything we've created. "For all of it."
Her eyes get shiny. "You're going to make me cry."
"Sorry."
"Don't be sorry. These are good tears." She wipes at them, laughing. "Happy tears. Because I'm married to the love of my life, we have the most beautiful daughter in the world, and we just opened our second restaurant. Life is really, really good."
"It really is," I agree.