“Sure thing, big Daddy.”
Jade turns around, tossing the bakery bag onto the kitchen island and slides onto a barstool. She looks at me, her sharp eyes taking in my flushed cheeks and the blueprints stretched across the dining table.
"Did I interrupt a moment?” she asks. “Because if you two were being ridiculously sappy again, I could have waited in the freezing cold garage a bit longer."
"You're fine, Jade," I say, stepping over to the island to grab the bakery bag. "Locke was just assuring me that our child’s crib will withstand a category five storm."
"Oh, absolutely," Jade snorts, leaning her chin on her hand. "Knowing Locke, he's probably forging the frame out of rebar and titanium. But speaking of heavy-duty softies..."
She pauses, looks over toward the living room sofa, where
