⭐ THE FAMILY SETUP ⭐

Total: 10 kids

• Set 1: Twins (14) – the Oldest
  
  
• Elijah Jr. (“EJ”) – looks just like Smoke, quiet, protective, athletic
  
  
• Alani – looks like Annie, bossy in a good way, mini-Mama energy
  
  
• Set 2: Triplets (10)
  
  
• Micah – identical to EJ but shorter, serious sleeper
  
  
• Mila – clown of the family, ADHD ball of energy
  
  
• Mari – quieter, artsy, observant
  
  
• Set 3: Twins (7)
  
  
• Nova – soft-spoken, loves books
  
  
• Noah – mischievous, loves harmless pranks
  
  
• Set 4: Singletons
  
  
• Zion (5) – a sweetheart who cries when other people cry
  
  
• Lila (4) – the one who looks different: red ringlets, light skin, hazel-green eyes, freckles; the spitting image of Annie’s Creole great-great-grandmama
  
  
• Baby Eliora (10 months) – chunky cheeks, attached to Smoke like Velcro

The house woke up loud.

It always did, but some mornings felt like the volume knob had cracked clean off.

“Micah, get yo’ elbow out my cereal!” Mila fussed.

“It’s on the table, Mila, not in your bowl! Oh my God—MAMA!” Micah yelled back.

“Mari, stop recording!” Mila snapped. “You not finna put me on TikTok lookin’ crazy—”

“Mamaaa,” Nova called, “Noah put my book in the freezer again!”

“In the freezer?” Annie muttered, eyes gritty, one hand stirring eggs while the other braced Eliora higher on her hip. She didn’t need to look to bark, ‘Noah Elijah Moore! Get in this kitchen right now.’”

“I was helpin’ it chill out,” Noah argued, already grinning before he even rounded the corner.

The kitchen was full—always full. Chairs half pulled out, cabinets open, cartoons blaring from the living room, the slap of little feet on hardwood. The smell of coffee, cocoa, syrup and too many different hair products hung in the air.

“Zion, sit on your bottom.” Annie used her mom voice without looking. “You gon’ fall.”

“I won’t,” Zion mumbled, perched on his knees on the chair, peanut-butter mustache shining.

Annie finally turned. “I wasn’t askin’.” She fixed him with the look — the one every Black child knew by heart.

Zion didn’t argue. He slid down onto his bottom, hands in his lap, posture saying yes, ma’am without a word.

Baby Eliora squirmed on her hip, starting to fuss. Annie glanced back at the popping grease and the crowded stove.

“Here,” she said, shifting the baby toward Smoke. “Take your littlest groupie before she ends up with bacon pops on her face.”

He took Eliora without missing a beat, settling her against his chest. She relaxed instantly, tiny fingers finding the pacifier clipped to her onesie and popping it into her mouth as he turned back to the pan.

Smoke—Elijah to the government, “Daddy” to the small army currently ruining his peaceful morning—stood in front of the counter. He flipped pancakes with the one hand, muscles flexing under a worn gray tee.

“Nova!” Annie called. “Come let me fix your hair.”

Nova slid into the kitchen, book already in her hand, glasses sliding down her nose. She climbed onto the stool in front of Annie and sighed like a woman twice her seven years.

“Mama, can you make it the two braids with the beads? Please? They sound pretty when I walk.”

“Got you, baby.” Annie warmed a little oil between her fingers, the motion muscle memory. “Turn this way… no, this way. Look at Daddy.”

Nova turned, and her eyes softened watching Smoke bounce the baby.

“Daddy looks tired,” she observed.

Smoke huffed. “Daddy is tired. Y’all don’t believe in sleepin’ through the night.”

“I try,” Zion said helpfully. “But my eyes don’t listen.”

A chorus of laughter bubbled around the table.

At the far end, Alani and EJ sat side by side, fourteen and suddenly somehow more shoulder than child. EJ hunched over a bowl of cereal, hood up, earbuds dangling. Alani had her hair in a high puff and was scrolling through her phone with the resigned air of someone who had accepted their fate as second mother of the house.

“Y’all hear me?” Annie asked, side-eyeing the older two as she sectioned Nova’s hair. “If y’all late to school again, Ms. Daniels gon’ be callin’ me.”

“Yes ma’am, we hear you,” Alani said. “You know EJ walk slow on purpose though.”

“I don’t walk slow,” EJ muttered. “I just don’t like rushin’.”

“Same thing.” She bumped his shoulder with hers. “Eat, boy.”

A small body climbed onto the bench tucked against the kitchen island beside Zion with exaggerated effort. Four-year-old Lila pulled herself up, curls bouncing—tight copper ringlets that tumbled around her heart-shaped face. Her skin was light, golden-amber, scattered with pale freckles across her nose.

From her spot at the island, her hazel eyes blinked up at Smoke across the counter as she dragged her little plate closer.

“Daddy, can I have ’nother pancake?” she asked.

He glanced over his shoulder from the stove and softened immediately.

“You didn’t even eat the first one yet, Red.”

“I’m gonna,” she promised. “I jus’ preparin’.”

He slid another pancake onto her plate, then leaned across the island to kiss the top of her head.

“There. Carb loadin’.”

“What’s carb loadin?” Zion asked.

“It’s when Daddy makes up words so he can give Lila extra food,” Mila said, grinning around a mouthful of bacon.

“Daddy!” Micah blurted, pointing his fork. “Jalen said his mama said Lila look like she belong to somebody else ’cause she so light and don’t match us. That gotta be it, right?”

It came out half joke, half genuine kid logic. EJ and Micah looked like Smoke; Alani, Mila and Mari were a rich brown, curls dark like Annie’s. Nova, Noah, and Zion clustered in their own range of shades of them. And Eliora was a chubby brown baby with Smoke’s serious frown.

“Yeah,” Mila snickered. “He said she look like she from them mixed-baby pages on Instagram.”

Mari added. “He said she gotta be adopted.”

Some of the kids giggled. It wasn’t meant to be mean—not really. It was echoing the nonsense they’d heard friends, nosy neighbors, and even relatives say, the kind of careless talk kids repeat without thinking.

Across the kitchen, Annie’s jaw tightened. Her fingers stilled over Nova’s braid. A familiar sting pricked behind her ribs — the same one she felt years ago at Walmart, when a white woman leaned over Lila’s stroller and asked Annie, “Oh, are you her nanny?”

Smoke had been two steps away. The glare he’d given that woman still replayed like a photograph behind Annie’s eyes.

Now, she watched Lila shrink in her chair, smile slipping.

“I ain’t ‘dopted,” she whispered, eyes dropping to her freckled hands.

“Y’all cut it out,” Alani said quickly, frowning. “That’s not nice.”

“Yeah,” Zion echoed loyally. “She my sister.”

“It’s just a joke,” Micah insisted, but his voice wavered when Lila’s eyes glossed.

Smoke’s whole body went still.

He remembered that day in Walmart too — remembered the way Annie had swallowed her hurt and laughed it off, even though he’d seen the tears she blinked away later in the car.

People never questioned him as Lila’s dad. Brown-skinned daddy with a light baby? Folks barely blinked. But Annie — darker, beautiful, unmistakably Black — got hit with comments that felt like a slap.

“She can’t be yours.”

“You the babysitter?”

“Her daddy white?”

He’d held Lila close that day because he didn’t know how else to hold Annie.

That same tight, burning protectiveness climbed his spine now.

He turned off the stove a little too hard; the burner clicked in protest.

“Aye,” he said, voice low. The room quieted fast. There was something about Smoke’s tone that could still a crowd.

“Enough. We not repeatin’ nothin’ folks outside this house say about yo’ sister. I don’t care what Jalen mama said, I don’t care what y’all saw on Instagram. Lila ain’t nobody else’s child. She ain’t ‘from somebody else,’ and she fo damn sure ain’t a joke.”

He swept a look across the table, sharp and steady.

“All y’all got the same mama, same daddy, same name, same family. That’s what matter. You hear me?”

Micah swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“Yes, Daddy,” the chorus came, softer.

He walked around the island and crouched by Lila’s chair till he was eye-level with her. “Look at me, Red.”

Her hazel eyes lifted, still glossed with hurt.

“You know whose baby you are?”

She sniffed. “Yours.”

“That’s right.” He tapped her chest gently. “You mine. One hundred percent. No returns, no exchanges. You look like you look ’cause God like variety.” His mouth quirked. “He showed off a little with you, that’s all.”

A watery giggle shook out of her. “He showed off?”

“Mmhm. You got your Mama’s nose. You got my stubborn. And you got your own shine.” He kissed her forehead. “Anybody ask you who you belong to, you tell ’em, ‘Elijah and Annie Moore. Boffum. Together.’ Aight?”

“Aight,” she whispered.

“Good.” He straightened looking at the rest of the siblings. “Now — if I hear that joke again? I promise you, we gon’ have a problem.” He pointed to his belt. “Don’t test me.”

Groans rippled.

“Daddy, that’s child abuse,” Mila muttered.

He shot her a look.

“Say it again, you’ll be washin’ dishes ’til high school.”

That earned him a reluctantly impressed chuckle from EJ, who quickly hid it behind his spoon. Annie caught his eye and mouthed, thank you.

He nodded, shoulders relaxing as he went back to the stove.

Annie tied off Nova’s braid and let herself exhale. She tugged gently on the plait. “Cute. Go wash your hands before you eat.”

“Mama?” Lila’s voice came, small.

“Yeah, baby.” Annie wiped her hands on a dish towel and crossed the room. “Come on. I wanna show you somethin’.”

“Is it my great-great-grandma again?” Lila asked as she slid down from her chair.

“Mmhmm. ’Cause I think you forgot how much you look like her.”

They walked down the hallway, the noise of the kitchen muffling behind them. The family photo wall stretched from floor to ceiling—sepia-toned faces and glossy prints, black-and-white portraits and polaroids.

Annie stopped by an old framed photograph—edges worn, glass slightly fogged. A woman stared out from another century, skin light and luminous, eyes a sharp pale brown, hair a cascade of tight red-brown curls pinned up under a scarf.

“This her,” Annie said quietly. “Rosalie Cormier. My great-great-grandmama.Your three times great grandma,” Annie chuckled.

Lila’s eyes widened. She leaned in, pressing her nose almost to the glass.

“She… she look like me,” she breathed.

“Or you look like her,” Annie corrected gently. “She was Creole. My side of the family is Creole. And you know Creole and Black folks? We come in all kinds of colors, baby. Real light, real dark, in between, red-brown, honey-brown… don’t matter. We still family. We still us.”

She brushed a curl back from Lila’s forehead.

“People used to tell Rosalie that she looked ‘different’ too. Too light, too red, too… whatever they felt like that day. But she ain’t let that bother her. She held her head up anyway.”

Annie tapped Lila’s little chest, right above her heart.

“’Cause she knew exactly who she was, and where she came from. Sound like somebody you know?”

Lila smiled slowly. “Me?”

“Exactly you.” Annie said it with a soft smile as she slid her hands under Lila’s arms and lifted her onto her hip. Lila curled into her easily, head resting on her shoulder.

Annie pressed a kiss to her temple.

“You’re a Moore and a Cormier. You’re ours. That’s what matters.”

She rubbed Lila’s back in slow circles, voice low and reassuring.

“And those people sayin’ ugly things? They just jealous they ain’t got legendary ancestors on their wall.”

Lila’s tiny fingers clutched Annie’s collar, her little body relaxing at the words.

Lila giggled. “We all got ancestors, Mama.”

“Yeah, but you got Rosalie ancestry.” Annie tugged gently at one of Lila’s curls, bouncing her a little on her hip. “That’s special.”

Lila’s whole body softened. Her shoulders dropped, her back straightened—like someone had quietly slid support beams back inside her little frame. She glanced at the portrait again, then tucked her face into Annie’s neck.

“I love you, Mama,” she whispered.

Annie felt something in her chest melt warm and sweet.

“I love you too, bébé.”

She kissed Lila’s cheek, then eased her down onto her feet, steadying her small hands in hers.

“Come on,” Annie said, squeezing her fingers. “Let’s go eat before your brothers inhale everything.”

Lila nodded, curls bouncing, and together they walked back toward the chaos, hand in hand.

As soon as Annie stepped into the kitchen, Zion yelled, “MAMA, Noah put the spoon in the toaster!”

“What?” Annie screeched.

“I took it out!” Noah said quickly. “It was just an experiment—”

“Boy, I swear to—”

Smoke leaned against the counter, watching the scene with a tired, amused affection. He caught Annie’s eye as she spun into motion again, fire in her step, voice cutting through the noise like a bell.

He loved her in these moments. Loved her more when she glared at him across the room like, this your fault too.

He mouthed, You good?

She mouthed back, No. I am not good. I am tired, my head hurt, and if one more person says my name I’m changin’ it.

He chuckled and turned the burner off. “Hey,” he called over the din. “Y’all got school in thirty. If you ain’t dressed in ten, you goin’ in whatever you got on. Pajamas and all.”

A collective scramble erupted.

Kids bolted from the table. Chairs scraped. Footsteps thundered down the hall. Somebody cried about missing shoes; somebody yelled about stolen leggings.

In the sudden relative quiet, Annie slumped against the counter and rubbed her temples. Smoke still had Eliora, the baby content on his shoulder, pacifier bobbing as she sucked.

Smoke came up behind Annie and reflexively slid his free hand to her waist, palm big and warm against her. He pressed a kiss to her temple.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“No,” she said honestly. “But I’m upright, so that’s something.”

He laughed quietly. His hand squeezed her hip, fingers dipping under the hem of her oversized tee. “You know… we could fix that.”

“How?” she snorted. “We don’t sleep. I ain’t showered without an audience in three weeks.”

“Which is a crime.” His mouth brushed her ear. “I’m talkin’ about tonight.”

“Tonight what?”

“Tonight, we get us a sitter, we leave this little circus, and we go somewhere grown. Just you and me.” His voice dropped. “I put on real pants. You put on that dress that make me forget my name. We eat food we don’t have to cut for nobody and then we… you know.”

She tilted her head back to look at him, a slow smile creeping across her face. “You think they gon’ let us leave?”

“They ain’t no choice,” he said. “You need a break. We need a break. If we don’t get five minutes alone soon, I’m gon’ start cryin’ in public.”

“You cry in public, I’m takin’ a video,” she warned.

“Worth it,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss her, brief and soft and much too interrupted by the sound of someone yelling, “MAMA, Noah can’t find his pants!”

She sighed into his mouth, then pulled back. “Fine,” she said, resigned. “Tonight. I’m holdin’ you to it.”

“You should,” he said, eyes warm. “I got plans.”

“Big plans, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

By six o’clock that evening, Annie was convinced God was testing her.

The house had cycled through school drop-offs, work emails, snack distribution, homework meltdowns, and at least one sibling dispute that had ended with Nova quietly reading in the bathtub, fully clothed, because “it’s the only quiet place, Mama.”

Annie stood in the bathroom, door locked and back pressed to it, breathing like somebody who just sprinted a mile.

On the other side, tiny knuckles banged.

“Mama!”

“Maamaa!”

“Maaaaa!”

“I’m not here,” she called. “I moved out.”

Eliora whined faintly from her bouncer in the bedroom, but at least she wasn’t attempting to crawl under the door.

Annie eyed herself in the mirror. Hair loose around her shoulders, curls soft and full. She’d actually had time to wash it yesterday. Tonight, she planned to wear it out, big and wild, the way Smoke liked. Her makeup bag lay open, half-used products strewn across the counter.

“Mama, Noah said if we flush the toilet three times, a ghost come out.”

“Noah Elijah!” Annie yelled through the door. “Stop summonin’ spirits in my house! I mean it!”

She heard a muffled, guilty laugh.

She closed her eyes. Date night, she reminded herself. You get a date night. You get grown-folks conversation. You get to eat slow.

“Okay,” she whispered, leaning toward the mirror to start on her eyeliner. “We can do this—”

A shoe thudded against the door. “Mama! Zion ate my slime!”

“I did not!” came Zion’s scandalized voice. “I just touched it with my tongue!”

“Oh my God,” Annie muttered. “Why would you—”

Her phone lit up on the counter — the babysitter she’d lined up two weeks ago, back when she was trying to plan a night out they never got around to.

Hey Mrs. Moore I’m so so sorry my grandma just got rushed to the ER I can’t come tonight 😭😭😭

Annie’s heart dropped.

She stared at the message, then at her reflection, eyeliner pencil hovering mid-air. For a moment, her bottom lip wobbled treacherously. She pressed it together.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” she told her own reflection.

She shot back a quick, sympathetic reply—Of course, go to your family; we’ll figure it out—and then leaned her forehead on the cool mirror, eyes shut.

On the other side of the door, the banging continued. “Maaaama! Mama, Noah say—”

“Go ask yo’ Daddy!” she shouted.

“We did! He said ask you!”

She gritted her teeth, counted to five, then unlocked the door.

Five sets of eyes lurched forward with the door—Mila, Mari, Micah, Zion, and Noah, all in various states of ready and un-ready.

“Why y’all lookin’ like you bustin’ in the SWAT team?” she asked.

“Mama, I can’t find my black hoodie,” Micah said.

“Mama, Zion licked my slime.”

“She told me I can’t, and now it got germs,” Zion defended himself.

“Mama, Mila said she can do makeup for you and Daddy,” Mari added, holding up a brush suspiciously close to Annie’s face.

Annie took a deep breath. “No slime licking. No makeup on me. Go look for your own hoodie. And quit standin’ in the doorway. I gotta get ready.”

“Why?” Mila asked. “Where you goin’?”

Annie gave them all a pointed look. “Out.”

“All of us?” Zion perked up.

“Not y’all,” she said. “Just me and Daddy. It’s a date.”

The kids erupted into overlapping complaints.

“Awwww, but we wanna go!”

“Where y’all goin’? Can we at least pick the place?”

“This not fair…”

“Noah said y’all only go on dates when you mad at us.”

Annie blinked. “That… is not true.”

“Then why you goin’ now?” Noah asked, too honest.

“Because,” she said, tossing her curls, “me and Daddy grown. And we like each other. And we tired. Y’all will survive with a babysitter for a couple hours.”

“Who?” Mila asked, suspicious.

“Miss Kendra.”

“Miss Kendra let us eat ice cream before bed,” Zion said dreamily.

“Miss Kendra let us watch PG-13,” Mari added.

“Miss Kendra cool,” Micah declared.

“Then what’s the problem?” Annie demanded. “Everybody win. Now go get ready to terrorize Miss Kendra instead of me.”

She herded them out with gentle swats and closed the door again, locking it before they could double back.

She picked up her phone. Maybe Kendra lyin’, she thought. Maybe Grandma not at the ER, maybe she just tired and don’t wanna—

There was a knock behind her—not little, frantic knuckles this time. Slower. A rhythm she knew.

“Annie,” Smoke’s voice came through the door. “You decent?”

“Barely,” she said. “Come in.”

He opened the door and slid inside, closing it quickly to block the swarm of children that tried to follow.

“Uh-uh,” he said, foot braced. “Y’all better bounce. Go clean that playroom. If I step on another Lego, I’m auctionin’ all your toys off on Facebook Marketplace.”

They scattered, grumbling.

Smoke flipped the lock and leaned back against the door, looking at her.

Her dress hung on the back of the door—a soft, body-skimming number in deep wine that hugged her in all the right places. At the moment she was still in a tank top and bike shorts, hair half done, bare-faced except for one eye halfway winged.

“Babysitter bailed,” she blurted.

He blinked. “What?”

“She texted. Grandma in the ER. I told her it’s fine and now I regret it. We can’t go nowhere. Not unless you wanna bring all ten of yo’ children on our date.”

His jaw flexed. “Hell nah. We not doin’ that.”

“I’m just sayin’—”

“No,” he interrupted gently. “We not doin’ that.” He stepped forward, thumb brushing her cheek. “You been talkin’ about us needing time to ourselves for weeks. You need outta here as bad as I do. We gon’ figure it out.”

“Wit who?” she demanded. “Everybody else got plans or don’t owe us no more favors. We used up all our babysitting points on Mother’s Day and Father’s Day.”

He opened his mouth, then paused.

From down the hall, they heard a door open. EJ’s low voice mixed with Alani’s laugh.

Smoke’s eyes slid in that direction.

Annie followed his gaze. “Don’t you dare say it.”

“Why not?” he said. “They fourteen. They know the routines, and they know they siblings. They always swear we don’t trust ’em with real responsibility. This might be the Lord sayin’ it’s time.”

“This might be the Lord sayin’ it’s time for Child Protective Services to visit,” Annie muttered.

Smoke’s hand slipped to her waist. “We call it a trial run. We don’t go far, we keep our phones on, we threaten them with their lives before we leave.” His eyes softened. “We at least ask.”

She hesitated, then sighed. “Fine. You ask. They like you better.”

“That is not true.”

“You got them those new sneakers, Elijah. You bought their loyalty.”

He grinned and kissed her forehead. “Watch this.”

EJ and Alani were in their shared sort-of-hallway, sort-of-doorway hangout spot, both halfway changed out of school clothes. EJ was taller than Annie now, which she pretended not to be offended by. His hair was twisted up, edges of a mustache threatening. Alani had her bonnet perched loosely on her curls, scrolling TikTok with the weary wisdom of someone who had seen too much nonsense on the internet.

“Y’all busy tonight?” Smoke asked, leaning on the door frame.

“Uh… kinda,” Alani said. “Me and Kaylin were gon’ watch that show on Netflix—”

“Homework?” Smoke asked EJ pointedly.

“Done,” EJ said. “Mostly. Why?”

Smoke took a breath. “What if me and yo’ mama had somewhere to be tonight and we didn’t have nobody to watch y’all?”

Alani squinted. “Like… a real date? Y’all dress up and make reservations, date?”

“Yeah.”

“And Miss Kendra can’t come?” EJ asked.

“No.”

“So… what, we just… all go?”

“No,” Annie said, coming up behind Smoke. “We go. Y’all stay.”

Both teens stared at her.

“By ourselves?” Alani clarified.

“With y’all’s kids?” EJ added.

“Yeah,” Smoke said calmly. “We think y’all old enough to handle it. Maybe.” He cut them a look. “If y’all think you can handle it.”

There was the exact half-second of hesitation he expected—then the spark of pride lit up in EJ’s eyes. He sat up straighter.

“We can,” he said. “We definitely can. Right, Lani?”

Alani hesitated just a beat longer, eyes flickering down the hall toward the echo of triplet voices.

“I mean…” She lifted her chin. “Yeah. We can. We live here. We know how everything go. We can do bedtime and snack time and break-up-fights time.” She glanced at Annie. “If y’all trust us.”

Annie’s heart did that painful little twist parents never talk about—the one that comes when you realize your babies aren’t just your babies anymore. They were looking at her, eyes full of teenage determination, shoulders squared like little soldiers demanding a shot.

She folded her arms. “It ain’t about trust,” she said. “It’s about safety. Y’all know where the first aid kit is? Fire extinguisher? You know what to do if somebody start chokin’? You know who to call in an emergency?”

EJ and Alani nodded in unison, answering. They rattled off Grandma’s number, Uncle Stack’s, the neighbor Mrs. Johnson.

“Hmm.” Annie looked at Smoke. He watched her quietly, letting her lead.

“And you understand,” she continued, “that if we give y’all this chance and we come home to somebody swingin’ from the ceiling fan or the stove bein’ on with nothin’ cookin’—”

“We not dumb, Mama,” EJ said. “We ain’t gon’ set nobody on fire.”

“That’s the bar now?” she muttered.

“Mama,” Alani said, softer. “We can do it. Just… let us try. Trial run. If we mess up, you never gotta let us do it again.”

Smoke hid a smile. Trial run. They’d been listening.

Annie exhaled through her nose, feeling the weight of the day on her shoulders and the weight of their hope tugging toward the other side.

“We don’t go far,” she said finally. “Restaurant ten minutes away. Phones on loud. We gon’ FaceTime at some point. And if y’all need us, you call. No tryin’ to fix big things by yourself. You understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” they said together.

“And nobody opens the door for strangers,” Smoke added. “Not even if they say they the mailman and here to take Lila back.”

From down the hall, Lila’s indignant “Daddy!” echoed.

He smirked. “Too soon?”

“Way too soon,” Annie said, hiding a laugh. “Alright. You got three hours, tops. Feed ’em, herd ’em through the bath, get ’em in their pajamas, and have this house lookin’ like people live here, not raccoons, when we get back.”

“We can do that,” Alani said, her voice tight with nerves and excitement.

“We got this,” EJ repeated, and the way his chest puffed just a bit made Annie’s throat close.

“Okay then.” She nodded once. “Trial run. Don’t make me regret this.”

An hour later, Annie stood in front of the full-length mirror in their bedroom and smoothed her hands down her dress.

The wine-colored fabric hugged her waist, draped over her hips, kissed the tops of her thighs. Her curls framed her face, falling to her shoulders in glossy coils. She’d gone soft on the makeup—warm browns on her eyes, a sweep of highlighter, lips glossed and gleaming.

Behind her, Smoke whistled low.

“God,” he said. “You tryin’ to get me in trouble.”

“Wit’ who?” she asked, though her smile said she knew.

“With myself.” He stepped up behind her, his reflection meeting hers. He wore a black button-down, charcoal dress pants that hugged his frame just right, sleeves rolled to his forearms, tattoos peeking at his wrists. His chain glinted at his collarbone, warm, dark cologne settling around them.

He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her back against him.

For a moment, it was quiet—just their breathing, the hush of fabric, the faint muffled chaos of children somewhere in the house.

“We really doin’ this?” she asked softly.

“Yeah,” he said. “We really are.” His eyes traced her face in the glass. “You look good, girl.”

“I better,” she said. “It took fourteen years and ten kids to earn this.”

He chuckled and lowered his mouth to her shoulder, kissing the bare skin. “I ever tell you I love you?”

“Once or twice.” She tilted her head, giving him more room. His hand slid over her stomach, fingers brushing the front of her dress. Heat flared where he touched.

He murmured in her ear, “I’m serious. Today almost broke me. I was in there tryna help Micah with that math homework, and I almost texted my old teachers to apologize for every time I acted up in class.”

Annie laughed, the sound loosening something tight in him. “You deserved that.”

“I know,” he said. “Which is why I need this date. ’Cause when you walked past me in this dress earlier, I forgot all my kids names.”

“You forget ’em anyway.”

“Not all ten at once.” His hand slid a little lower.

“Daddy!” Lila’s voice echoed from down the hall. “Daddy, Zion spilled the juice!”

Smoke groaned and rested his forehead on her shoulder. Annie laughed harder.

“Go on, ‘Daddy,’” she teased. “Your people need you.”

He pressed one more kiss to her neck, then straightened. “You notice they only call me ‘Daddy’ when they want somethin’?”

“They call me ‘Mama’ whenever they breathe,” she said. “You still winnin’.”

He walked toward the door, then looked back. “Grab your purse. We leavin’ right after I save that sad little carpet.”

“Yes, sir,” she murmured.

He paused, eyes darkening. “You keep sayin’ that, you ain’t gon’ eat much at this restaurant.”

Her stomach flipped. “Promises, promises.”

The living room had been temporarily transformed into Mission Control.

EJ stood at the center, remote in hand, voice trying to sound authoritative. Alani had a notepad and pen, writing down a loose schedule like she’d seen Annie do on the whiteboard before the first week of school.

“Okay,” EJ said. “So… we already ate. We did chicken nuggets and the little veggie fries Daddy bought that nobody likes—”

“They taste like sadness,” Noah said.

“—but we ate ’em,” Zion added. “Mama, you proud?”

“I’m very proud,” Annie said, surprised and touched. “Good job.”

“We gon’ give everybody fifteen more minutes of screen time,” Alani continued, “then we turn the TV off, start baths, and then it’s PJs and story time.”

“Who picked the story?” Nova asked cautiously.

“Me,” Mari said. “It’s the one about the haunted dollhouse.”

“No,” Annie said immediately. “Not on y’all first trial run. Pick somethin’ with no ghosts, no monsters, no talkin’ furniture, no cursed jewelry.”

“That’s literally all the good ones,” Mari complained.

“Pick somethin’ with a bunny,” Annie insisted.

“Bunnies can be scary too,” Noah muttered.

Smoke clapped his hands once, drawing all the eyes. “Alright. Ground rules. Y’all know us; you know the routine. EJ in charge of makin’ sure nobody plugs nothin’ into nothin’ they not supposed to. Alani in charge of bath and bedtime. If any of the little ones say their stomach hurt or they feel weird, you call us. If anybody start cryin’ and won’t stop, call us. If the house catch on fire, leave the house, call 911, then call us. Don’t try to be no superhero.”

EJ nodded, face serious. “We got it.”

Alani chewed her lip, then straightened. “We gon’ be fine,” she said, more to herself than anybody.

Smoke scanned the room, taking in each little face. Nova clutching her book. Noah bouncing on the balls of his feet. Zion leaning against Lila, head on her arm. Lila’s curls wild, hazel eyes still a little wary but steadier now. The triplets sprawled on the couch like they owned it. And baby Eliora, sucking on her bottle in her playpen, blinking solemnly up at him.

His heart squeezed.

“Love y’all,” he said, voice softer. “Be good.”

“Where y’all goin’?” Zion asked, eyes big.

“To a place with grown-up food,” Annie said, grabbing her coat. “Go ahead and be jealous.”

“Bring me fries,” Mila said.

“You just had fries,” Alani pointed out.

“These gon’ be real fries,” Mila insisted.

“We’ll see,” Smoke said. “Aight. EJ, Lani—” He pointed two fingers at his eyes, then at them. “Trial run.”

“Trial run,” they echoed.

Annie and Smoke stepped out onto the porch. The air outside was cool, the sky dipped in various shades of purples and pinks. The scent of suburbia lingered outside—the faint smell of freshly cut grass and somebody grilling somewhere down the street.  

He reached for her hand as they walked toward the car. Her fingers slid into his, familiar and new all at once.

“Can’t believe we did that,” she said as he opened her door.

“Gave ’em a chance?”

“Yeah.”

He smiled. “Can’t believe we have ten kids,” he said. “So we even.”

She laughed, climbing in. “Drive, Elijah, before I change my mind and go back inside to get my babies.”

“If you turn around now, we fightin’,” he warned, sliding into the driver’s seat. “And I’m still takin’ you on a date; we just gon’ argue in public.”

She snorted and buckled her seatbelt. “You ain’t gon’ argue with me in that shirt. I’d get distracted.”

He grinned and pulled away from the curb.

The restaurant wasn’t fancy-fancy, but it was nice—soft lighting, clinking glasses, murmured conversations. A world away from cereal, crayons and sticky fingers of home.

They sat across from each other in a half-circle booth, menus resting forgotten between them.

“This feel illegal,” Annie whispered, looking around. “Ain’t nobody need somethin’. Ain’t nobody callin’ my name. I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“You supposed to relax,” Smoke said, thumb brushing over her hand on the table. “Eat. Drink. Let your shoulders drop.”

“My shoulders are dropped,” she argued, then laughed when she realized they absolutely were not.

He raised a brow. “You tryin’ to lie to me or yourself?”

She sighed and forced herself to unclench, rolling her shoulders. The tension eased a little. She looked at him—really looked at him, without a baby in his arms or a kid tugging his sleeve.

“Hi,” she said softly.

He smiled. “Hey.”

“You look good, Daddy.”

“You look dangerous, Mama.”

The server came, took their order—appetizers they didn’t have to share, two entrees that weren’t nuggets or mac and cheese, drinks stronger than juice boxes.

When they were alone again, Smoke leaned back, studying her.

“How you feel?” he asked. “Besides tense and fine.”

She laughed. “Old.”

“You ain’t old,” he said. “You seasoned.”

“That’s worse.”

“That’s better. Seasoned is where the flavor at.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered. “I do feel tired. But… good tired, mostly. Just… sometimes I look around and think, ‘How the hell we get here?’”

“By not listenin’ to the instructions on the box,” he said.

She kicked him under the table. “I’m serious.”

“I know.” He sobered. “I think about that too. Used to spend my nights runnin’ the streets, now I spend ’em chasin’ Zion off the kitchen counter and fallin’ asleep five minutes into Netflix.”

“Upgrade,” she murmured.

“Big upgrade,” he agreed. “I’d take this house full of noise over any of that other shit, any day.”

Her throat tightened. “Me too.”

He reached across the table and laced their fingers. “You okay… with all of it?” he asked quietly. “Sometimes I see you in the morning, hair all tied up, hand on your back, and you look like you one more mess away from runnin’ away.”

She snorted, eyes going shiny. “That’s accurate.”

“Annie.”

“I’m playin’.” She squeezed his hand. “I love our kids. I love our chaos. I just…” She shrugged. “Sometimes I miss us. Before we were somebody’s parents. Before we were ten people’s parents.”

He nodded slowly. “I miss us too. That’s why I wanted tonight.” He held her gaze. “We still in there. Under the burp cloths and diaper bags.”

“I know,” she said softly. “I see it when you look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you forgot how many mouths we gotta feed,” she said. “Like you want to take me home and—”

Her phone buzzed on the table between them.

Both of them looked down.

A text from Alani: everything is fine!! we good. ❤️

A selfie came through right after—Alani with the triplets and Nova piled around her on the couch, Zion and Lila squeezed in the front, Noah blurry in the background, mid-leap. Eliora’s curly head just visible at the edge, pacifier in her mouth.

“They look… alive,” Annie said, zooming in. “That’s somethin’.”

“They look happy,” Smoke said. “That’s better.”

Her shoulders dropped another inch. She set the phone facedown and looked up at him.

“Where were we?” she asked.

He leaned forward, voice low. “You was sayin’ I look at you like I want to do somethin’ reckless.”

Heat curled in her stomach. “Oh. Right.”

The food came. They ate slow, for once. They actually tasted their food, laughed without interruption, told stories about the kids like they weren’t only a few miles away.

By the time the plates were cleared, a warm, sleepy fullness had settled in Annie’s limbs, her second drink humming pleasantly through her veins.

Smoke stretched his arm along the back of the booth, fingers brushing her shoulder.

“You know,” he said, voice low, “we could make this even more worth the babysittin’ fee we not even payin’.”

She turned, arching a brow. “Oh?”

He nodded toward the dim hallway where the bathrooms were. “I’m just sayin’… they got walls. They got doors. I ain’t scared of a little misdemeanor.”

She laughed, heart skipping. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it,” he said easily.

She did. God help her, she did.

She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. The warmth in his gaze deepened.

“Five minutes,” he coaxed. “We earned five minutes.”

She glanced around. No one was paying attention. The murmur of the restaurant washed over them, anonymous and safe.

“Fine,” she whispered, adrenaline sparking. “You go first. I’ll meet you there.”

He grinned, kissed her quickly, then slid out of the booth. She watched him walk away, shirt stretching across his back, the line of his shoulders making heat pool low in her belly.

She counted to thirty, then slid out too.

The hallway was dimmer, lit by soft sconces. Two doors marked Restrooms, a little alcove with a plant and a bench.

Smoke leaned against the wall near the far end, the picture of casual sin. When she approached, he caught her wrist and tugged her into the shadows, his body fitting against hers.

“You really got me sneakin’ like we teenagers,” she whispered, laughing breathlessly.

“We was teenagers once,” he said, mouth already lowering to hers. “Only difference is now I know what I’m doin’.”

“Do you?”

He didn’t answer—with words. His hands found her waist, thumbs stroking slow circles through the fabric as his lips met hers.

It was different than the quick, distracted pecks of daily life. This was deep, unhurried, a claiming and a remembering. She melted into him, fingers curling in his shirt, the world narrowing to the slide of his mouth, the scrape of his stubble, the low sound he made when she opened for him.

His hand stroked up her back, fanning over the nape of her neck. He tilted her head, deepening the kiss, and her knees went a little weak.

“God, I missed you,” he murmured against her lips.

“I’m right here,” she whispered.

“You know what I mean.”

His hand skimmed down her side, dragging heat in its wake, coming to rest on her hip. He tugged her closer. She felt him, solid and ready, pressed against her thigh, and her breath caught .

She slid her hand up his chest, fingers hooking in his collar. “If we start somethin’ in this hallway and don’t finish,” she warned, “I’m gon’ be mad as hell at you.”

“We gon’ finish,” he promised. “Soon as—”

Her phone rang.

Loud.

They both froze.

He pulled back just enough for her to see the flicker of irritation cross his face. Then he exhaled and stepped back, letting her dig in her purse.

The screen flashed: EJ.

Her heart stuttered. “Baby.”

“Answer it,” Smoke said immediately, pulse jumping in his throat.

She swiped. “EJ? You okay? What’s wrong?”

There was noise in the background—a crash, a shriek, someone yelling, “I didn’t do it!”

EJ’s voice came through, breathless. “Ma—Mama. We need you to come home.”

Her blood went cold. “What happened? Is somebody hurt? Is somebody bleedin’?”

“No—no, nobody bleedin’,” he said quickly. “I mean, Zion’s cryin’ a little, but he always cryin’… uh—just—can y’all just come home? Please?”

Smoke had already pulled out his wallet, throwing cash on the table in his mind. He met her eyes. “We on the way,” he called toward the phone.

“Daddy, everything’s—hang on—Noah, stop!—it’s fine, I just—” The line crackled. “Just hurry, okay?”

“On our way,” Annie said, heart pounding. “EJ, listen to me. No cookin’ nothin’, no touchin’ the stove, no—”

“Okay!” he said. “Okay, Mama, I heard you, just—come home.”

The call ended abruptly.

Annie stared at the phone, then at Smoke.

“Trial run,” he said flatly.

“Trial run,” she echoed.

He blew out a breath, then straightened, smoothing his shirt like he hadn’t just been about to commit a minor crime in a hallway.

“Come on,” he said gently, taking her hand. “Let’s go check on our little managers.”

She nodded, swallowing disappointment. “We ain’t even get dessert.”

He laced their fingers. “If my house still standin’, I’ll stop and get you somethin’ on the way.”

They walked through their own front door like people entering a crime scene.

The living room looked… okay at first glance. The TV was off. The couch cushions were slightly askew but not destroyed. A couple of snack bowls sat empty on the coffee table.

Then Annie saw the glitter.

It was everywhere—on the rug, on the couch, and dusted across the hallway like a fairy had exploded.

“Lord,” she breathed.

From the kitchen came a clatter and a scream.

Smoke moved first, striding down the hall, Annie close on his heels.

The kitchen was chaos in motion.

The lamp from the side table had somehow migrated to the counter and was lying on its side, bulb miraculously unbroken. The floor was sticky with what looked like… juice? Maybe? The mop lay abandoned in the middle of the mess.

Noah stood on a chair near the microwave, spoon in hand, looking guilty and wet.

“I told you you can’t put metal in there!” Nova was shouting, clutching a book to her chest like a shield.

“I wasn’t, I was— I was stirrin’ my cocoa,” Noah protested, eyes wide.

Zion was near tears in the corner, clutching his stomach. “My tummy feel like it got soap in it,” he whimpered.

Mila and Mari were covered in glitter, their faces painted like kittens, eyelashes clumpy. They looked delighted and slightly terrified.

Micah stood near the sink, hands dripping soapy water, eyes wide.

Lila sat at the table, clutching a crumpled drawing, eyes big and glassy.

Eliora sat in her high chair, cheeks sticky, happily banging a plastic cup against the tray. Glitter on her too.

In the middle of it all, EJ and Alani stood back-to-back like exhausted generals after a lost battle.

“How do they do this?” Alani gasped.

“I don’t know,” EJ said, voice half hysterical. “I think… I think they not human.”

“Mama,” Zion moaned when he saw Annie. “I dyin’.”

“You not dyin’,” she said automatically, sweeping in to kneel in front of him. “What you eat?”

“Everything,” Alani said helplessly. “He ate everything.”

“—Nuggets and fries—” Micah cut in.

“—And the gummy candy!” Mila added.

“—Mila said smoothies was a good idea!” Mari said quickly.

“—I was thirsty!” Zion protested.

“—And Noah mixed orange juice and milk!” Nova said, horrified.

“—I just wanted to see—” Noah started.

“Children,” Annie interrupted sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Okay. Stop. Everyone stop talkin’.”

They all fell quiet — even Eliora, freezing mid–cup bang.

Smoke surveyed the scene, jaw tight. “EJ.”

EJ flinched. “Yes, sir?”

“What happened?”

“Um…” EJ rubbed the back of his neck. “It was fine at first. We was watchin’ a movie. Then Noah spilled the juice, and while me and Micah was cleanin’ that, Mila and Mari got into the craft bin, and then Zion said he was hungry, so we gave him more nuggets, and then Lila got sad ’cause they got glitter on her picture, so Alani went to talk to her, and then the baby started cryin’—”

“’Cause Noah took her paci,” Nova supplied.

“It was an experiment!” Noah yelped.

“—and then the microwave started beepin’ weird and I smelled somethin’ burnin’,” EJ finished miserably. “Nobody died, though.”

Annie looked at Smoke. He stared back, something like exasperated laughter and deep, bone-level empathy warring in his eyes.

“How long we been gone?” she asked.

EJ checked his watch. “Uh… an hour and fifteen minutes.”

Alani threw her hands up. “One hour, Mama,” she exclaimed. “How y’all do this every day? For years?”

Annie barked a laugh she hadn’t expected. It came out halfway hysterical, halfway proud.

“Barely,” she said. “We barely do it.”

Smoke stepped further into the kitchen, his shoes sticking to the floor with each step. “Nobody hurt?” he asked again, scanning. “Nobody burned, cut, choked?”

“No,” Alani said quickly. “Just… a little… chaos.”

“Understatement of the century,” he murmured.

Lila slipped from her chair and ran to him, curls bouncing. “Daddy, I tried to help,” she said earnestly. “I told ’em not to put the spoon in the microwave. And I told Zion not to drink the orange milk juice.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, lifting her easily. He kissed her glitter-dusted forehead. “You did good.”

She beamed, then frowned. “EJ said he never havin’ kids,” she whispered.

Smoke snorted. “He’ll change his mind when he meet somebody look like his mama.”

“Eww,” Lila said on reflex, then giggled.

Annie moved systematically, triaging the situation. She sent Zion to the bathroom with directions to sip water. She wiped Eliora down, changed her sticky shirt. She confiscated the metal spoon from Noah and made him sit at the table to “think about his life choices.”

EJ and Alani watched, deflated.

“Mama,” Alani said softly when Annie passed her, “we really tried.”

Annie stopped. The twins’ faces were flushed, glitter clinging to their cheeks, eyes tired.

“I know, baby,” Annie said, and she meant it. “I can tell.”

“We thought it’d be… easier,” EJ admitted. “Like… we see y’all do it all the time, you make it look… I don’t know. Regular.”

“That’s ’cause if we thought too hard about it, we’d never get out the bed,” Annie said.

Smoke huffed a quiet laugh.

Annie wiped a streak of juice from Alani’s arm. “Look. Y’all ain’t fail,” she said. “Everybody alive. House still standin’. Microwave still… mostly functional.”

“Smell weird, though,” Zion called from the hallway bathroom.

“You learned somethin’ tonight. That’s what this was for. Trial run. Right?”

Alani exhaled. “Right.”

“You didn’t call us ’til it got too much,” Smoke pointed out, voice even. “That was good. That’s what grown folks do. You tried your best, and when it was bigger than you, you asked for help. That’s how it’s supposed to go.”

EJ’s shoulders eased a little. “So… we not grounded?”

“Not if you help clean this up,” Annie said. “Manually. With your hands. And no complaints.”

They groaned, but there was relief in it.

Soon, the kitchen hummed with a different energy—scrubbing, rinsing, sweeping. Smoke mopped while EJ wiped counters. Alani helped Mari and Mila wash glitter out of their faces. Nova read quietly to Zion in the living room, a blanket over both of them. Lila finished her drawing at the table, tongue poking from the corner of her mouth in concentration.

By the time the last spill had been conquered and the last dish set to dry, everyone looked three degrees more worn and two degrees more content.

“Alright,” Annie announced. “Little ones—bath. Now. Triplets, Nova, Noah, Zion, Lila. Move.”

There were protests, but softly. They trudged toward the bathroom, leaving a faint trail of glitter like their own personal constellation.

Smoke scooped a sleepy Eliora from her high chair and kissed her cheek. “You ever do that to us,” he told her, “and I’m puttin’ you up for adoption for real.”

She giggled around her pacifier, unconcerned.

EJ leaned against the doorway, watching his younger siblings shuffle and shove. He looked… older, somehow.

“How you feel?” Smoke asked him quietly.

“Like I been hazed,” EJ said.

Smoke laughed. “Welcome to the frat.”

EJ nodded slowly. “I’ma be nicer to you and Mama… for, like, the next three days at least.”

Smoke clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll write it on the calendar.”

By the time the baths were done and all ten children were in pajamas, the house was a low murmur of night sounds.

Zion and Lila fell asleep halfway through a story in Annie and Smoke’s bed. Annie carried Lila to her own room, tucking her in under unicorn sheets. She paused to look at the picture Lila had taped to her wall—a copy she’d drawn of Rosalie’s portrait, curls and all.

“You see?” Annie whispered, smoothing a curl that had slipped free from beneath Lila’s little bonnet. “Told you. Spittin’ image.”

Lila smiled in her sleep.

Nova slept with her book open on her chest. Zion snored softly, clutching his stuffed dinosaur. The triplets had ended up in a tangle of limbs on their full-size bunk, glitter still embedded in their hair despite Alani’s best efforts.

EJ sat at his desk, pretending to do homework but clearly half-asleep. Alani was sprawled across her bed, phone on her chest, bonnet finally fixed properly, eyes closed.

Annie stood in the hallway and watched them all for a moment, heart full in that aching way.

She found Smoke in the nursery, lowering Eliora into her crib. He rested his hand on the mattress for a second, humming low, waiting for her to settle.

He turned and saw Annie leaning in the doorway, hip against the frame, arms folded.

“Everybody down?” she asked.

“For now,” he said. “One of them gon’ wake up talkin’ about a bad dream in three hours, but I’ll take the intermission.”

She chuckled softly. The house felt… soft. Dim lamplight, the faint hum of the diffuser in their room, the quiet tick of the clock in the hall.

She walked over, sliding her arms around his waist. He let himself sink into it, chin resting on her curls.

“How you feel, Daddy?” she murmured.

“Sticky,” he said. “Tired. Grateful.” He kissed her hair. “You?”

“Same,” she said. “We didn’t even get dessert.”

He huffed. “Who says?”

She leaned back to look at him. “You stop somewhere on the way in and didn’t tell me?”

His eyes sparked. “I’m not talkin’ about food.”

Her breath caught.

“Oh.”

He tilted his head toward their bedroom. “The kids asleep. The house quiet. Our bed empty. You in that dress. I think God tryna make it up to us.”

She laughed under her breath, nerves and heat skipping through her. “We gotta be quiet,” she said.

“We always gotta be quiet,” he pointed out. “That never stopped us before.”

She swatted his chest. “One of them could wake up.”

“And?” he said, starting toward their room, tugging her with him. “We been interrupted before. We just… adapt.”

They slipped into their bedroom and closed the door with the careful stealth of practiced parents. The diffuser hummed, filling the room with warm amber and soft lavender. The lamp by the bed cast a golden glow.

For a second, they just stood there, facing each other, the weight of the day hanging between them.

Then he reached for her.

His hands found her waist, thumbs stroking the curve of her hips. He tugged her closer until her chest brushed his. Her breath staggered.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“For what?” she asked.

“For today. For every day.” His thumb traced the line of her jaw. “For sayin’ yes to ten kids when you coulda stopped at one and said, ‘You know what, Elijah? I think we done here.’”

She smiled, eyes bright. “I mean, there were days…”

“I know.” He kissed her forehead, then her nose, then hovered over her mouth. “You still sure you ain’t regrettin’ it?”

She slid her hands up his chest, fingers curling into his shirt. “Only thing I regret,” she whispered, “is not marryin’ you sooner so I could’ve had more years of this.”

His breath left him in a low rush. “You can’t say stuff like that and expect me to act right.”

“I don’t want you to act right.”

He groaned softly, then closed the last inch between them.

The kiss was slow at first, lips brushing, tasting. Then it deepened, years of familiarity turning molten.

He walked her backward toward the bed, mouth never leaving hers. His hands skimmed down her sides, fingertips catching on the seams of her dress. She gasped quietly when his fingers found the zipper and eased it down.

The dress loosened, sliding over her shoulders. The cool air kissed newly exposed skin; his hands were right behind it, warm and sure.

Her fingers worked at his buttons, impatient, slipping a little. He smiled against her mouth, covering her hands with his to help. Together they pushed the fabric from his shoulders.

He helped her step out of her dress, letting it puddle at her feet. His gaze dragged over her—soft curves, warm skin, the familiar lines he never got tired of tracing.

“You so beautiful,” he murmured, like it was a secret.

She brushed her thumb over his lower lip, heart pounding. “You keep sayin’ that like you surprised.”

“Never surprised,” he said. “Always impressed.”

They sank onto the bed, careful of the creak of the old frame, bodies already reaching for each other like it had been months instead of hours. He pulled her close, her back to his chest, one arm sliding beneath her neck while the other traced slow, deliberate paths over the lace edge of her bra. She arched into him, a quiet sound catching in her throat as his palm settled over the soft curve of her stomach, fingers splaying wide, claiming the warmth there.

“Shh,” he whispered against her ear, lips brushing the shell of it. “Gotta be quiet, baby.”

She turned in his arms, finding his mouth in the dim. The kiss started slow, then deepened until she was clutching the back of his neck, urging him closer. He broke away just long enough to reach for the button of his slacks. The soft rasp of the zipper sounded too loud in the stillness; he paused, listening, then eased the fabric down his hips along with his underwear, kicking them aside. Bare now, he returned to her, skin warm against the cool air, pressing close until she could feel every inch of him.

His hand slipped beneath the lace of her bra, cupping her gently, thumb brushing over her nipple until it tightened beneath his touch. She exhaled shakily against his lips, fingers digging into his shoulders. He smiled into her hair, shifting them so she lay half beneath him, careful to keep his weight on his elbows. One strap of her bra slipped down her shoulder, the lace catching on the swell of her breast before it fell away completely. He chased the path with his mouth, open-mouthed kisses trailing along her collarbone, the delicate slope where neck met shoulder, lingering wherever she shivered. When he reached the soft weight of her breast, he paused, breath warm against her skin.

He cupped her gently, lifting her heavy breasts, and closed his lips over her nipple with a tenderness that made her gasp—soft, hushed—into the quiet room. The first slow pull drew a bead of milk onto his tongue; sweet, faintly warm, unmistakably hers. He hummed low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her as he sucked once, twice, careful and reverent, tasting her in a way that felt almost sacred. Her fingers tightened in his hair, not guiding, just holding, anchoring them both in the moment.

A tiny droplet escaped the corner of his mouth; he caught it with his thumb and brushed it across her lower lip before kissing her again, sharing the faint sweetness between them. She trembled under him, overwhelmed, and he soothed her with another slow lick, then pressed a final kiss to the damp peak before moving on, lips skating lower, leaving her breathless and aching in the best way.

She hooked a leg over his hip, drawing him down until the hard length of him settled against the thin cotton of her panties, a slow, steady pressure that made them both still for a moment, breathing together. His fingers traced the delicate edge of lace at her hip, then slipped beneath, easing the fabric aside just enough. When he finally touched her, warm and slick and ready, she bit down on his shoulder to muffle the soft whimper that escaped.

He took his time, teasing gentle circles, watching her face in the low lamplight as her eyes fluttered shut and her lips parted on silent gasps. Every time her breath hitched too loudly he paused, pressing kisses to her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth until she relaxed again.

Only when she was trembling, clinging to him, hips lifting in quiet plea, did he ease her panties down her thighs. He shifted forward, guiding himself with one careful hand, the blunt heat of him brushing against her first—once, twice—until she nodded almost imperceptibly against his shoulder.

He pressed in slowly, eyes locked on hers in the dim glow. A low, shaky exhale escaped them both as he seated himself fully, buried deep, surrounded by her warmth. For a long moment they stayed perfectly still, breathing the same air, savoring the intimate closeness they’d been craving all day.

They moved together carefully, deliberately, every slow thrust measured to keep the bed from protesting. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, arms wound tight around his back, feeling the flex of muscle under her palms as he rocked into her—deep, strong, perfect. The room filled with the hushed sounds of their breathing, the faint rustle of sheets, the occasional stifled moan when one of them forgot themselves for a second.

He slipped a hand between them, fingers finding her again, and she came apart quietly—teeth sunk into her bottom lip, body arching off the mattress, clinging to him as waves of pleasure rolled through her. The feel of her pulsing around him undid him moments later; he pressed his forehead to hers, breathing her name like a prayer as he followed, hips stuttering, arms shaking with the effort of holding still and silent.

Afterward, they stayed tangled, hearts hammering against each other. He reached down to tug the blanket up over them both, then brushed a kiss to her damp temple. She nuzzled closer, pressing a sleepy kiss to his throat, the lace of her bra still askew, her panties tangled somewhere near her knees.

The diffuser had burned low, lavender faint now, and the lamp painted them both in soft gold. Outside their door, the house stayed blessedly still.

“Worth it,” he murmured.

She huffed a soft laugh. “What, the glitter? The spilled juice? Noah’s orange milk juice experiment?”

“All of it,” he said. His thumb brushed just under her ribs, where stretch marks curved like faint silver lightning. “This. Them. You.” He kissed her shoulder. “Worth every second.”

Her heart swelled so big it almost hurt. “You know they gon’ wake us up in four hours,” she warned.

“I know,” he said.

“You know they gon’ want pancakes in the morning.”

“I know.”

“And that trial run probably convinced EJ and Alani not to have kids ’til they thirty.”

“That might be the best birth control we ever gave ’em,” he said dryly.

She snorted. “Facts.”

He leaned in, kissed her softly. “Go to sleep, Mrs. Moore.”

She closed her eyes, letting the warmth of him sink into her bones. “Thank you for dessert Mr. Moore,” she mumbled teasingly, words already slurring with drowsiness.

He chuckled into her hair. “You welcome, my love.” he said.

She smiled, drifting. “Next time… we get the sitter.”

“Next time,” he agreed.

Outside their room, the house creaked and settled, holding its ten sleeping hearts.

Inside, Annie and Smoke curled into each other, a small, quiet island in the middle of their beautiful chaos, finally—blessedly—alone.