Burned Hearts by Calista Fox

taking in every square foot. A nice, spacious area. Windows with striking scenery beyond the glass panes. Wood floors. Walls trimmed with smooth, waist-high river rock. All in all, elegantly rustic.
    It occurred to me that the best way to tackle this enormous undertaking was to go at it from the stance of wedding planner. I could take a million ideas from a bride and pull together one specific theme to make it all gel once I saw the photos and concepts staring me in the face.
    I grabbed my laptop, went into the great room, flipped the switch that brought to life a roaring fire in the tall hearth, and settled on one of the sofas scattered about.
    A color scheme was the first order of business. That entailed envisioning what our child might look like, who he might become. I pictured Dane, of course. Our son would be strapping, powerful, gorgeous—just like his father. Girls would fall at his feet.
    I frowned. That’d be quite the challenge for me. I’d always teased Dane about his possessiveness. Suddenly I realized I’d feel the same about the baby. Because he was ours.
    All I could fathom was providing him with the best of everything, all the opportunities in the world. And showering him with love.
    I groaned. I might smother rather than shower . I’d have to work on that. Strike a balance.
    It was a strange conundrum. For me, I’d only had the love of one parent. Had, admittedly—and not at all via fault on my father’s side—suffered from that. I’d grown up closed off, standoffish, a loner.
    Dane had grown up with no parents. But he’d had a devoted aunt and the never-faltering Amano. Not to mention the Heidi Klum look-alike Mikaela Madsen.
    Kyle had experienced as close to a perfect family unit as I could comprehend, though he’d confessed his dad preferred being a road-warrior salesman to a traditional home-at-six-o’clock-for-dinner husband/father.
    I longed for a happy medium based on all the realities of life—and the fact that I still wanted a career. And once the criminal convictions came in, Dane would be on to his next big project. Whatever that might be.
    Now was the time for me to seriously contemplate how to shape our future with a child being a prominent part of it—developing his own skill set, interests, passions. Feeling free to be his own person, not having to follow directly in his father’s footsteps. Or, again, be smothered by a mother who adored him to pieces.
    I already felt so attached, so addicted, to the baby growing inside me. How could I not be a crazed lunatic when I gave birth to him?
    You’ll have to chill. Let him breathe, Ari. Let him breathe.
    I did just that currently. Big inhale, slow exhale.
    Dane joined me on the sofa. I hadn’t even realized Ethan had left us, being so engrossed in my mental debate.
    â€œEverything okay?” Dane asked as he rested his hand on my thigh.
    I cozied up to him. “Just fine. I was reminding myself not to suffocate our son with motherly love.”
    Dane grinned. “I doubt he’ll mind.”
    â€œI don’t want to be fearful of all the things he might want to do, either. It’d be cool if he rowed and boxed like you. Golfed like my dad. Played football like Kyle. Or is that too much? I want him to be well-rounded. Completely amazing. Oh! And Amano could teach him martial arts.”
    I stared at my husband, who raised a brow.
    â€œI’m too weird, aren’t I?” I asked. “Totally mommy-psycho.”
    Dane wrapped his arm around me and held on fiercely. “Baby, I get it. Nothing weird about you. I want our son to have it all, too. Be all he wants to be, you know?” Dane paused a moment, then added, “We are going to name him eventually?”
    â€œHave you been talking to Kyle?”
    â€œYeah. Sure.”
    Okay, the two of them discussing the baby would be the absolute last topic on the table.
    I said, “We just might have to