Bonus Scene: The Big Reveal in Pelican Point

Bonus Chapter - Miles

Six months later

Emma's standing in our bedroom making a three-page instruction list for Ryan and Candace, and I'm trying very hard not to laugh.

"Sweetheart," I say carefully. "Ryan ran special ops missions in hostile territory. He can handle two babies."

"But what if they both cry at once?" She's highlighting something on page two—the feeding schedule that she's color-coded by urgency level.

"Then he'll handle it. Like we do. With caffeine and determination."

"What if Gracie won't take her bottle? She gets fussy around six PM—"

"Emma." I gently take the highlighter from her hand. "Ryan and Candace are grown adults. They can handle this."

"But Graham needs his yellow blanket for naps, and Gracie prefers being rocked counter-clockwise—"

"Counter-clockwise?"

"It's a thing! Don't judge me!"

I pull her into my arms, instruction list and all. "They're going to be fine. Ryan survived Navy SEAL training. Our babies are in excellent hands."

She buries her face in my chest. "I've never left them overnight."

"I know."

"What if they forget who we are?"

"In forty-eight hours?"

"It could happen!"

"It absolutely cannot happen."

She pulls back, looking up at me with those worried eyes. "What if—"

"Emma. They'll be fine. WE need this. When's the last time we had an entire conversation without someone crying?"

"Yesterday. For approximately four minutes."

"Exactly. We need adult time. Couple time. Remember we're married?"

"Vaguely."

I kiss her forehead. "Ryan's downstairs. Candace is already setting up the portable cribs. Your instruction list is three pages of overkill, and I love you for caring this much. But we're going."

"But—"

"No buts. Pack your bag. We're leaving in twenty minutes."

She looks at the instruction list, then at me, then back at the list. "I should add a section about diaper rash cream application techniques—"

"Emma."

"Fine." She shoves the list in my hands. "You give it to them. I can't watch Ryan's face when he sees how long it is."

Fifteen minutes later, we're loading our bags into the car while Ryan reviews the instruction list with an expression somewhere between amused and terrified.

"This is very thorough," he says diplomatically.

"That's page one," I tell him.

His eyes widen. "There are THREE PAGES?"

"Emma's very organized."

"Emma's insane." He flips to page two. "Counter-clockwise rocking? Is that real?"

"Apparently."

Emma emerges from the house carrying Gracie, Graham already in Ryan's arms. She's covering Gracie's face with kisses, whispering things I can't hear but can definitely guess involve promises to come back soon.

Candace takes Gracie gently. "We've got this, Emma. Go have fun."

"But her sleep schedule—"

"Is on the list," Candace says. "In detail. With timestamps."

"And Graham's teething—"

"Also on the list," Ryan adds. "With a subsection on teething ring preferences."

Emma looks at me desperately. I take her hand.

"Time to go," I say firmly.

She lets me guide her to the car, looking back at the house approximately five times. We're backing out of the driveway when her phone rings.

"It's Ryan," she announces.

"Don't answer it."

"But what if—"

"Emma. We've been gone for thirty seconds."

"Something could have happened in thirty seconds!"

I gently take the phone from her hands and silence it. "They're fine. Breathe."

She breathes. Sort of. It's more like a controlled panic wheeze.

We hit the highway heading north toward the resort. Emma's silent for exactly four minutes before reaching for her phone.

"Just checking—"

"No."

"But—"

"Emma. They're with Ryan and Candace. They're probably playing with the babies right now. Gracie's probably giggling at Ryan's faces. Graham's probably destroying something. Everything is completely normal."

"You don't know that."

"I absolutely know that."

Her phone buzzes with a text. She grabs it before I can stop her.

"It's a picture," she announces. Then she makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Look!"

She holds up the phone. Ryan's sent a photo of himself and Candace on the floor, Gracie and Graham between them. All four are grinning at the camera. Well, the babies are gumming their fists, but it counts.

Ryan: We're alive. So are your kids. Stop worrying.

Emma types back immediately.

Emma: Call me if ANYTHING seems wrong. Anything at all. I'll turn around.

Ryan: GO ENJOY YOUR WEEKEND. We've got this.

She sets down the phone, looking slightly less panicked. "Okay. They look happy."

"They look very happy."

" Graham's wearing the blue onesie."

"I noticed."

"That's his second-favorite onesie. Did I put that in the instructions?"

"Emma."

"Right. Letting go. I'm letting go." She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. "We're doing this."

"We're doing this."

"Adults only weekend."

"Glorious adults only weekend."

"No crying babies."

"Well, hopefully no crying adults either."

She laughs, and some of the tension leaves her shoulders. "When did we last do this?"

"Before the twins were born. That weekend in Tampa."

"The one where we got drunk at the wine festival?"

"The one where we got drunk at the wine festival and came home and made twins."

"Right. That weekend." She's quiet for a moment. "We were so naive then."

"Blissfully naive."

"Thought we were being safe."

"We were attempting to be safe."

"Our attempts were clearly unsuccessful."

"Best failure ever though."

She reaches over, taking my hand. "Best failure ever," she agrees.

The resort is two hours north—far enough that we can't easily turn around if Emma panics, close enough that Ryan could theoretically drive the babies to us in an emergency. Ryan chose well.

We pull up to the entrance and a valet immediately appears. Emma looks around wide-eyed.

"This is fancy," she whispers.

"Ryan's gift. He said we deserved something nice."

"This is beyond nice. This is—" She stops as we enter the lobby. "Miles. There's a waterfall. Inside. A waterfall."

"I see it."

"Who puts a waterfall inside a hotel?"

"Rich people?"

"We don't belong here."

"We absolutely belong here. Come on."

Check-in is smooth. Our room is on the fourth floor with an ocean view. Emma walks straight to the window when we enter, staring at the beach.

"It's so quiet," she says.

"That's the sound of no babies crying."

"I forgot what quiet sounded like." She turns to face me. "Should I call Ryan?"

"You texted him twenty minutes ago."

"But—"

My phone buzzes. I check it, then show her the screen.

Ryan: Stop worrying. Gracie just laughed at my faces. Graham threw a toy at my head. Everything's perfect. GO RELAX.

Emma reads it, then smiles. "Okay. Relaxing. I can relax."

"You absolutely cannot relax."

"You're right. I'm terrible at this." She looks around the room—king bed, sitting area, minibar, fancy bathroom. "This is really nice."

"Ryan said there's a spa. Massages, facials, the works."

"When do we have time for that?"

"We have two entire days of time."

She blinks. "That's so much time."

"Unprecedented amounts of time."

"What do adults even do with time?"

"I have some ideas."

Her cheeks flush slightly. "Do you now?"

"Many ideas. But first—" I pull out the room service menu. "When's the last time we had an uninterrupted meal?"

"Define uninterrupted."

"No baby crying. No spit-up on our clothes. Actual conversation."

"That would be..." She thinks. "Never. That's never happened since the twins were born."

"Then let's start there."

We order room service—fancy sandwiches and salads that would definitely get spit-up on them at home. When it arrives, we sit at the small table by the window and eat like civilized humans.

"This is weird," Emma says after her third bite.

"Good weird or bad weird?"

"Both? I don't know what to do with my hands when I'm not holding a baby."

"Eat food. That's what hands are for."

"Revolutionary concept."

We finish eating without anyone crying, spitting up, or requiring immediate diaper changes. Emma checks her phone exactly zero times, which feels like a major victory.

"Want to walk on the beach?" I ask.

"In these clothes?"

"We could change."

"Into what?"

"Emma. You packed clothes. I saw you pack them."

"I packed baby supplies with some clothes hidden at the bottom."

"Then let's go shopping."

"Shopping?"

"There's a boutique downstairs. You deserve new clothes that aren't covered in mystery stains."

"They're not mystery stains. I know exactly what they are."

"That's somehow worse."

Twenty minutes later, Emma's trying on dresses in the boutique while I wait outside the fitting room. She emerges in a simple blue sundress that makes her look like herself pre-twins—confident, beautiful, relaxed.

"I forgot what this felt like," she says quietly. "Dressing up. Being just us. Not covered in spit-up."

I stand, crossing to her. "You're beautiful. Always were, always will be."

Her eyes drop. "I'm still not back to my pre-pregnancy body—"

"Emma." I cup her face, making her look at me. "You carried our babies. You're perfect exactly as you are."

"I have stretch marks."

"Battle scars. Proof of the incredible thing you did."

"My stomach—"

"Created two humans. That's amazing, not embarrassing."

She leans into my touch. "You're very sweet."

"I'm very honest." I kiss her softly. "Buy the dress. And whatever else you want. We're celebrating."

"Celebrating what?"

"Us. Surviving ten months of twins. Still liking each other despite the sleep deprivation."

She laughs, and it's the most relaxed sound I've heard from her in weeks. "Okay. The dress and maybe one more thing."

"Get five things."

"Miles—"

"Emma. Let me spoil my wife."

She ends up with three dresses, two pairs of pants that actually fit, and a swimsuit. When we're walking back to our room, loaded down with bags, she's actually smiling.

"This is nice," she admits.

"Told you."

"I still miss the babies."

"Me too. But we needed this. To remember we're a couple, not just parents."

"We're still us. Just more."

"I like the more."

She stops in the hallway, looking up at me. "Me too. I really like the more."

I kiss her properly this time, bags still in our hands, middle of the resort hallway. She makes a small sound against my lips, leaning into me.

"Room?" I suggest when we break apart.

"Definitely room."

Back in our room, I set down the shopping bags while Emma changes into one of the new dresses—a soft green that makes her eyes brighter. She's standing by the window again, looking at the sunset over the ocean.

I come up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist. She leans back against me with a sigh.

"Ten months," she says quietly.

I rest my chin on top of her head. "Longest and shortest ten months of my life."

"Feels like yesterday and also a lifetime ago."

"Both. Simultaneously. It's exhausting just thinking about it."

"Remember when I was terrified to tell you?"

"You mean when you hid pregnancy tests in your purse and ate pickles in parking lots?"

She laughs. "That version of me seems so naive now."

"That version of you was scared. Which makes sense when you're about to tell your husband you're accidentally pregnant with twins."

"You knew before I told you."

"The pickles were a big clue."

"I thought I was being subtle."

"You were eating them in the car. At eleven PM. While crying."

"Okay, not subtle."

I turn her to face me, hands on her waist. "You were brave. Telling me when you were ready, even though you were terrified I'd react badly."

"You made it safe." She looks up at me. "From the moment you started making me bland chicken and stocking pickles without asking questions."

"I may have panicked a little when I found the CVS receipt."

"You panicked?"

"I researched baby equipment at 3 AM for a week straight. I created color-coded spreadsheets. I was very calm and collected."

She laughs, rising on her toes to kiss me. It's been so long since we've had time for this—actual kissing, not just quick pecks between diaper changes. I deepen the kiss and she makes that sound again, the one that goes straight through me.

"Miles," she breathes against my lips.

"Hmm?"

"I want..." She trails off, suddenly shy.

"Tell me."

"You. I want you. Just us. No interruptions. No babies crying through the monitor. Just—" She stops, looking vulnerable. "God, is it weird that I'm nervous?"

I laugh, pulling her closer. "You're gorgeous. We haven't had uninterrupted time together in six months. I'm nervous too. And also very, very interested."

"Really?"

"Emma. I've been thinking about this since we checked in."

She grins, tugging me toward the bed. "Then stop talking and kiss me."

I do.

We take our time—something we haven't been able to do since before the twins were born. Emma's dress comes off, then my shirt, then the rest until it's just us and six months of missing this.

She's trembling slightly when I lay her back on the bed.

"Okay?" I ask.

"So okay." She pulls me down beside her. "Just nervous. It's been a while."

"We'll go slow."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

I keep my word, relearning her body slowly. She's different now—softer in some places, stronger in others. The physical evidence of growing and birthing our children. Her stomach has faint silver lines that weren't there before.

"Battle scars," I tell her, tracing them gently.

"They're permanent."

"They're proof of the incredible thing you did. Growing two humans at once."

Her eyes fill with tears. "Stop making me emotional when we're supposed to be having sex."

"Can't help it. You're crying and gorgeous and mine."

"Yours," she agrees, pulling me closer. "Always yours."

When I move over her, she gasps, her hands gripping my shoulders. I kiss her slowly, deeply, trying to show her everything I'm feeling—how much I love her, how incredible she is, how the last six months have only made me fall harder.

"Miles," she breathes. "I love you."

"Love you too. So much."

Afterward, Emma's crying again—the good kind, the overwhelmed-with-emotion kind. I pull her against my chest, stroking her hair while she hiccups through tears.

"That was..." She trails off, wiping her eyes.

"I know."

"I forgot we could be like this. Just us. Without listening for crying or checking the monitor."

"We never stopped being like this." I kiss her forehead. "Just got busier. And more tired. So much more tired."

She laughs wetly. "Understatement of the century."

The ocean waves outside create a gentle soundtrack. No crying babies. No emergency diaper changes. Just Emma's breathing evening out as she drifts toward sleep.

"Miles?" Her voice is soft, nearly gone.

"What's up?"

"I'm really happy."

I tighten my arms around her. "Good. You deserve to be."

"Thank you for this."

"Thank Ryan. This was his gift."

"I will. But also—" She yawns. "—thank you for being patient with me. For letting me be scared and then helping me not be scared anymore."

"That's what partners do."

"Best partner ever," she mumbles, already half-asleep.

I hold her as she falls asleep completely, both of us actually sleeping through the night for the first time in six months. No wake-ups. No feedings. Just uninterrupted sleep.

It's glorious.

I wake to sunlight streaming through the curtains and Emma still asleep beside me, looking more relaxed than she has in months. Her hair's a mess across the pillow. One hand is curled under her cheek like Gracie does when she sleeps.

A year ago, Emma was hiding pregnancy tests in her purse and having panic attacks in parking lots. Now we have Gracie and Graham, her practice is thriving with Preston, Celtic Knot's expansion is successful, and we're stronger than ever.

She stirs, catches me staring. "Stop being creepy."

"I'm being appreciative."

"Same thing."

"I love you."

"Love you too. What time is it?"

I check my watch. "Nine."

Her eyes fly open. "NINE?! The babies—"

I pull her back down gently. "Are with Ryan and Candace. We're allowed to sleep."

She settles back against me, but I can feel the tension in her shoulders. "This is weird."

"This is nice."

"Okay, it's nice." She snuggles closer, then: "Do you think they missed us?"

"Probably. But they're fine. Ryan sent fourteen pictures yesterday. They looked very entertained."

"Show me again."

I pull up the photos on my phone and we scroll through them together— Gracie giggling at Candace's faces, Graham destroying a cardboard box with single-minded determination, both babies covered in what looks like sweet potato.

"I can't wait to see them," Emma admits.

"Same. But I'm glad we had this. Time to remember we're a team. Not just parents, but partners who actually like each other."

"I more than like you."

"Good. Because you're stuck with me."

We order room service breakfast—actual hot food that we eat at a normal pace. Then spa appointments—massages, facials, being pampered like actual adults. Emma falls asleep during her massage, which the therapist says is completely normal for new parents.

"Did I snore?" Emma asks when we meet back in the hallway.

"I wasn't in there."

"Right. But if you were there, would I have snored?"

"Probably."

"Wonderful."

That evening, we dress up for dinner—Emma in the new blue dress, me in actual slacks instead of jeans covered in baby drool. The restaurant is fancy, the kind of place we haven't been to since before pregnancy.

"Should we feel guilty for enjoying this?" Emma asks over wine—her first glass in over a year.

"Absolutely not. Happy parents make better parents."

"When did you get so wise?"

"I've been reading parenting books. Lots of parenting books."

Her eyes narrow. "How many?"

"...You don't want to know."

"Miles. How many?"

"Tons."

She stares at me. "Tons of parenting books?"

"And three podcasts. And approximately nine hundred articles."

"You're insane."

"I'm thorough."

"Those are not the same thing."

"They are when you're me."

After dinner, we dance—badly, because we're both out of practice and slightly wine-drunk. Emma's laughing as I spin her, and the sound fills something in my chest that's been empty for months.

"I missed this," she says.

"Dancing?"

"Laughing. Being silly. Being us without worrying about wake-up times."

"We can still be us. Just requires more planning now."

"And more caffeine."

"So much more caffeine."

We stumble back to our room, both pleasantly tired and happy. Emma collapses on the bed with a sigh.

"Tomorrow we go back," she says.

"Tomorrow we go back."

"Think they missed us?"

"Probably. But they're fine. Ryan sent fourteen pictures today. They look very entertained."

"Show me."

I pull out my phone, and we scroll through Ryan's updates. Gracie giggling at Candace's faces. Graham destroying a cardboard box with determination. Both babies covered in what looks like sweet potato.

"They're perfect," Emma whispers.

"They really are."

"I can't wait to see them."

"Me neither. But I'm glad we had this."

She looks at me. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. We needed to remember we're a team. Not just parents, but partners."

"Best team ever."

"Absolutely best team."

We fall asleep early, exhausted from spa treatments and wine and actually relaxing for the first time in half a year.

Sunday afternoon, we're loading our bags into the car. Emma's practically vibrating with excitement to see the babies.

"Think they remember us?" she asks for the seventh time.

"Yes."

"But it's been two days—"

"Emma. They're six months old, not goldfish. They remember us."

We drive home faster than strictly necessary. Emma's checking her phone every five minutes for updates from Ryan. When we finally pull into our driveway, she's out of the car before I turn off the engine.

Ryan and Candace are on the porch—Candace holding Gracie, Ryan holding Graham. Emma scoops up Graham immediately, covering her face with kisses.

"Hi baby boy! Hi sweetheart! Mommy missed you so much!"

I grab Gracie, who immediately grabs my nose with her chubby fist. "Hey sweetie. Miss me?"

She gurgles something that I'm choosing to interpret as "yes."

"They were perfect," Ryan says. "Barely cried."

Emma looks up from kissing Graham’s face. "Really?"

"Well..." Candace hedges. " Graham cried for an hour straight last night."

"But we handled it," Ryan adds quickly. "Like you said. Caffeine and determination."

"And approximately six parenting website consultations," Candace says, grinning at Ryan.

"You read parenting websites?" I ask him.

"Miles, you gave me a three-page instruction list. I needed backup."

Emma's laughing now, still holding Graham close. "Thank you both. For watching them. For the weekend. For everything."

"That's what family's for," Candace says.

After Ryan and Candace leave, Emma and I take the babies inside. Everything's exactly how we left it—toys scattered, blankets everywhere, the chaos we call home.

"I missed this," Emma says, settling Graham in his bouncer.

"The chaos?"

"The everything."

That night, after baths and bottles and finally getting both babies down, Emma and I collapse on the couch. She's got her feet in my lap, and I'm absently rubbing the tension out of them.

"That was nice," she says quietly.

"Worth leaving them for two days?"

"Definitely worth it. But this—" she gestures around our chaotic living room, "—this is better."

"The mess and exhaustion is better than the fancy resort?"

"This is home. This is us. All four of us."

I squeeze her foot gently. "Agreed."

She's quiet for a moment, staring at the baby monitor like she's making sure both green lights are still steady. Then: "Miles?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm completely happy. Terrifyingly, overwhelmingly, completely happy."

"Good. You should be."

"Are you? Happy?"

"Are you kidding? I have you, two amazing babies who only wake up three times a night now instead of six, and I haven't been peed on in almost forty-eight hours. I'm living the dream."

She laughs, then gets that look on her face. The dangerous one. "Think we'll do this again someday?"

I don't even hesitate. "Two is perfect."

"Absolutely perfect," she agrees immediately. "We're done."

But we're both smiling.

"Although—" I start.

"NO."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it. I could see you thinking it."

"Maybe I was just thinking about how cute they are."

"You were thinking about more babies."

"Possibly. In the abstract. Years from now. When we've forgotten how little sleep we currently get."

She's laughing now, throwing a pillow at my head. "Let's survive these two first."

"Deal. Besides, we'd need a bigger house."

"We'd need a bigger everything."

"And more color-coded spreadsheets."

"You and your spreadsheets." She's shaking her head but smiling. "Come on. Let's check on them one more time before bed."

We head to the nursery for one final check. Both babies are sleeping peacefully— Gracie with her hands above her head, Graham with his yellow bear clutched tight. We stand together watching them breathe, the way we do every night before bed.

"Best thing we ever did," Emma whispers.

"Even better than your wine disposal methods at Celtic Knot?"

"Those were pretty creative. But yes. Even better than that." She leans against me. 

"That was a low point."

"That was the point I knew for sure." I turn her to face me. "The pickles gave it away, by the way."

"The pickles gave it away?" She's trying not to smile.

"Emma. You hate pickles. Or at least you did. Then suddenly you were buying them by the case and hiding empty jars in your car. It wasn't subtle."

"I thought I was being so sneaky."

"You were eating them for breakfast. In the car. Before work."

"Okay, not sneaky." She's laughing quietly now. "But you waited. You let me tell you when I was ready."

"Of course I did. You needed to come to me in your own time." I kiss her forehead. "And you did. Even though you were terrified."

"Best decision I ever made. Telling you."

"Second best decision," I correct. "First was marrying me."

"Cocky."

"Accurate."

We close the nursery door quietly and walk hand in hand to our bedroom. Emma pauses in the hallway, that vulnerable look on her face again.

I pull her into our bedroom. "Did you know that Gracie's already showing signs of your pickle obsession? She made the same face you did at that first jar."

"She did not."

"She absolutely did. I have photographic evidence."

Emma's laughing as we climb into bed, and I pull her close. Outside, the house is quiet except for the soft sound of the baby monitor. Inside, we're exactly where we're supposed to be.

Together, like always.

Just with a lot more pickles and significantly less sleep.