Taylor kissed Denise as Kyle made his way inside.
“So, where is the little fella?” Taylor asked.
She nodded toward the corner of the porch. “Still asleep.”
“Shouldn’t he be awake by now?”
“In a few minutes. He’ll be getting hungry soon.”
Together they approached the basket in the corner, and Taylor bent over, peering closely, something he still did often, as if he couldn’t believe he’d been responsible for helping to create a new life. He reached out and gently ran his hand over his son’s hair. At seven weeks there was barely anything at all.
“He seems so peaceful,” he whispered, almost in awe. Denise put her hand on Taylor’s shoulder, hoping that one day he’d look just like his father.
“He’s beautiful,” she said.
Taylor looked over his shoulder at the woman he loved, then turned back to his son. He leaned in close, kissing his son on his forehead.
“Did you hear that, Mitch? Your mom thinks you’re beautiful.”