Chapter Text
Three years into their marriage, the DeLuca-Bishop household had a rhythm all on its own—equal parts chaos and joy, with just enough sea salt and baby wipes to keep things interesting.
The sun had barely risen over the horizon when Maya felt the soft thud of tiny feet on hardwood floor and the unmistakable sound of their toddler scaling the side of their bed like a determined crab.
“Mamaaa,” Noah whispered loudly.
Carina groaned from under the pillow.
Maya rolled over, catching their son just before he launched himself onto her ribs. “Buddy, we’ve talked about this. You can’t full-body slam your pregnant mother.”
“Mama belly,” Noah said with absolute wonder, poking Carina’s bump. “There’s a baby!”
Carina, eyes still closed, replied, “Yes, and the baby does not appreciate being poked.”
Maya snorted and pulled Noah into a cuddle. “How about we let Mama sleep and go make breakfast?”
“Pancakes?” he asked, bright-eyed.
“You drive a hard bargain.”
---
By 7:00 a.m., the DeLuca-Bishop kitchen was filled with the scent of batter, maple syrup, and a playlist of 90s pop that Maya insisted on calling “classics.” Noah sat at the counter, pancake batter on his nose, giggling as Maya flipped heart-shaped stacks onto his plate.
Carina appeared a few minutes later in one of Maya’s hoodies, hair pulled up, glowing in that effortless, beautiful way Maya still hadn’t gotten used to.
She leaned over and kissed Maya on the cheek. “You have syrup on your eyebrow.”
Maya kissed her back. “We’re working on precision.”
Carina rubbed her belly. “So is this one.”
---
After breakfast and a chaos-fueled cleanup attempt that mostly involved Noah spraying water everywhere, Maya changed into her lifeguard gear and kissed Carina goodbye.
“I’ll see you at the beach later?”
Carina nodded, hand on the bump, smile soft. “We’ll be there after naptime.”
---
Tower 3 — Late Morning
The beach was alive, summer in full swing. Maya climbed the tower with practiced ease, tossing a wave to Jack and Travis, who were wrangling umbrellas near the southern stretch.
“Do you get any sleep?” Jack asked.
“Two hours, three pancakes, one baby foot to the spleen.”
“Parenthood looks hot on you,” Travis called.
Maya laughed and adjusted her binoculars. “I’m thriving.”
The radio buzzed. A swimmer had gotten caught between rip currents—nothing serious, handled in minutes. Maya moved with her usual precision, calm and focused.
But her favorite part of the day didn’t come until just after lunch, when she saw the familiar figure walking toward her across the sand—barefoot, golden, carrying a toddler who was waving like he was hailing a parade.
“Mommyyyyy!”
Maya climbed down just in time to catch Noah mid-run. He threw his arms around her legs, and she scooped him up, spinning once.
“Hey, little fish. Are you ready for your swim lesson?”
Noah’s nod was so enthusiastic it could’ve powered a turbine.
Carina followed behind at a slower pace, one hand on her back, the other holding a sunhat and juice box.
“I made him promise no backflips,” she said with a raised brow.
“I make no promises,” Maya replied, and kissed her softly.
---
Later — Shoreline
The team had gathered in a loose circle around the shallows, watching Maya guide Noah into the water.
“He’s a natural,” Jordan said, smiling.
“He’s a menace,” Jack corrected. “But in the cutest way.”
Carina sat nearby on a picnic blanket, sipping a cold drink, her hand resting on her belly. Andy had joined her, watching Maya splash with Noah, both of them laughing so hard it echoed over the surf.
Vic leaned over and whispered, “If that kid doesn’t become a future lifeguard-slash-Olympian, it’s a waste of genetics.”
“I just want him to be happy,” Carina said, soft.
And he was. As Maya lifted Noah onto a little training board and let him ride a gentle wave to shore—wobbling, laughing, entirely fearless—it was clear: he was home .
---
Evening — Back at Home
Dinner at the DeLuca-Bishop house was never quiet, but tonight it felt especially full—in all the best ways.
Andrea had swung by earlier, arms full of groceries and pastries he swore were “for Carina,” though everyone knew he had a thing for lemon tarts.
“Zio!” Noah shouted, launching himself at his uncle as soon as he stepped through the door.
Andrea caught him with practiced ease, spinning him in the air. “There’s my little pesciolino! Did you learn to surf today?”
“I did!” Noah declared proudly. “I didn’t fall!”
Andrea chuckled. “You’re just like your mamma.”
“Which one?” Noah asked, completely serious.
Andrea blinked. “Touché.”
They gathered around the table—Noah in his booster seat between Maya and Carina, Andrea on the far end, passing around pasta and adding way too much balsamic to the salad. The baby in Carina’s belly kicked once when Andrea told a story about his residency, and he immediately leaned over to whisper to the bump, “It’s okay, little one, I’m not always this loud.”
Carina rolled her eyes affectionately. “That is a lie.”
Noah, meanwhile, was trying to feed Andrea a bite of grilled cheese by hand.
Andrea accepted it solemnly. “Best chef I’ve ever known.”
“Better than Mama?”
Andrea looked at Carina, who arched an eyebrow.
He swallowed the bite. “Hmm…different cuisines. Safer answer.”
The table burst into laughter.
Later, while Maya and Carina washed dishes and the evening light faded into soft lavender across the windows, Andrea and Noah sat cross-legged on the living room rug, building a tower out of magnetic blocks.
Andrea held a piece in each hand and looked very serious. “We can’t place the yellow one until we consult the architectural council.”
Noah blinked up at him. “What’s that?”
Andrea leaned in. “That’s you, boss.”
Noah grinned like he’d been handed the keys to a kingdom.
---
Later, curled up on the couch, Maya rested her head on Carina’s lap, her hand on the growing bump.
“I still can’t believe this is our life,” she whispered.
Carina smiled, stroking her hair. “Believe it. You built it.”
“We built it.”
A pause.
“I’m thinking next summer we teach them both how to surf.”
Carina laughed. “One of them will still be in diapers.”
Maya grinned. “Early start. That’s what Olympians do.”
Carina shook her head, leaned down, and kissed her. “Bambina, you’re out of your mind.”
“I’m completely, shamelessly in love with you,” Maya said. “That counts, right?”
“Always.”
The waves outside their window hummed steady, steady, steady.
And in the warmth of their little home—baby monitor quiet, toddler asleep, love anchoring every corner—they knew:
This was the life they fought for.
The life they chose.
And it was only just beginning.