Everybody gets a good laugh—yeah, it’s funny—and I spear another marshmallow to make Sarah the best s’more in the history of s’mores.

“I could live like this every day,” I murmur softly to her.

She leans into me with another one of those smiles I love so much. “Me too.”

“They’re not too much?”

“They’re family. And they’re yours. And they’re perfect. And we’re still locking the bedroom door tonight.”

“You’re utterly perfect, you know that?”

She laughs softly. “Far, far from it.”

“But you’re perfect for me.”

“Who knew one little tweet could change our entire lives?” she murmurs.

“Clearly, I did.”

She laughs again, and Emma startles awake with a cry. I wave Tripp off when he starts to get up, because he’s helping Mackenzie breathe. Also, Sarah and I have conquered worse than a fussy baby.

“Trade me?” I hand her the marshmallow stick, and she shifts to let me take Emma.

And then we sit there together, me calming a baby back to sleep, Sarah proving her marshmallow roasting skills surpass mine, our friends and family chattering happily all around us, and yep.

Life is pretty fucking perfect.