Featuring Stack Moore x Rhiannon Carter x Isaac Moore
Summary: When 16 month old Isaac picks up a grown folks word from his daddy, what starts as a harmless laugh turns into a full house crisis. Now Stack has to unteach what he accidentally encouraged.
The office was too clean for a toddler, and everybody in it knew that.
Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the corner unit, letting Los Angeles pour in like it had something to prove. Sunlight bounced off polished concrete floors, slid across white walls, and caught on the edges of glass desks that never stayed smudge-free for long. The furniture was intentional. Neutral-toned couches. Matte-black shelving. A long conference table that looked like it belonged in a magazine spread about startups that made too much money too fast.
There was a faint citrus scent in the air, mixed with fresh coffee and something vaguely expensive Stack couldn’t name. The AC hummed quietly, steady and cool, a relief from the heat pressing down outside.
Isaac didn’t care about any of that.
At sixteen months, he had just enough balance to be dangerous and just enough confidence to think he owned the place. Stack set him down on the rug by the couch with a soft thump, watching carefully as Isaac steadied himself, knees bent, arms out like he was negotiating with gravity.
“Aight,” Stack said, voice low and warm. “You stay right there, lil man.”
Isaac stared up at him, big-eyed, considering the request.
Then he turned and took off toward Smoke’s desk.
Smoke glanced down just in time to catch Isaac reaching for a tangled nest of cords. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said, sliding his chair back with a scrape. “Nah, nah, not them.”
Isaac squealed, delighted by the sudden attention.
Stack laughed, leaning against the filing cabinet. “You see? He quick. I told you.”
Smoke scooped Isaac up with one arm, settling him on his hip like it was second nature. “Yeah, quick to tear shit up.”
The word slipped out easy. Casual. Unbothered.
Isaac’s head turned slowly.
He stared at Smoke’s mouth, studying it the way babies studied everything new. The shape. The sound. The way the sentence had dipped at the end. Smoke kept talking, unaware.
“Man, these invoices ain’t addin’ up for nothin’. I swear, every time I think—” He stopped short when Stack’s eyebrows jumped.
Stack nodded toward Isaac.
Isaac was watching him like he’d just unlocked something.
It came out soft, breathy. Incomplete.
Then Smoke laughed, sharp and sudden. “Did you hear that?”
Stack straightened, disbelief blooming into a grin. “Man, no. He ain’t—”
“Shi,” Isaac repeated, louder this time, pleased now. His mouth stretched around the sound like he was proud of it.
Smoke’s laugh turned into a bark. “Oh, he got ears on him.”
Stack rubbed his hand over his face, already losing the fight. “You shouldn’t have said that.”
Smoke shrugged. “Didn’t think he’d clock it like that.”
Isaac twisted in Smoke’s arms, reaching down toward the floor. Smoke set him back down, and Isaac immediately toddled off, wobbling but determined. He knocked into the leg of a chair, bumped his knee, sat down hard.
There was a brief pause. A thoughtful one.
“Shi,” Isaac said, clear as day.
Then Stack folded, laughter spilling out of him despite his best effort to clamp it down. Smoke slapped his thigh, wheezing.
“Ain’t no way,” Smoke said. “This baby done learned his first real word in my office.”
Stack crouched down, pointing gently. “Nah, nah, nah. That ain’t a word for you.”
Isaac looked at him, unfazed. Then he smiled.
Because they were laughing again.
And that, Isaac understood.
At sixteen months, he didn’t have language the way grown folks did. He had sounds. Reactions. Patterns. He knew which noises brought smiles, which ones got claps, which ones made Daddy’s eyes crinkle and Uncle Smoke sound like he was about to fall over.
He picked up a pen from the floor. Dropped it.
Smoke doubled over. “This lil dude got comedic instinct.”
Stack shook his head, laughter leaking through anyway. “Man, stop encouraging him.”
Isaac toddled across the room, pushed a stack of papers just enough for them to slide crooked.
Smoke wiped his eyes. “I’m tellin’ you, he contextual.”
Stack tried again, firmer this time. “Isaac. Hey. That ain’t funny.”
Isaac paused. Looked at him. The laughter died down.
For half a second, Stack thought that might be it.
Then Smoke chuckled under his breath.
Isaac’s eyes lit right back up.
It became a game after that. Not an intentional one, not to the men at least, but Isaac treated it like cause and effect. Noise. Reaction. Noise again. He didn’t understand that the word meant something. He understood that it worked.
By late afternoon, Smoke had said it three more times without thinking. Each one landed like a gift.
“Shi,” Isaac echoed from across the room, clapping once afterward like punctuation.
Stack leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, watching his son with a mix of pride and dawning dread. “We really messed up.”
Smoke grinned. “Relax. He’ll forget it.”
Right on cue, Isaac tripped over the rug.
Stack groaned. “He ain’t forgettin’ that.”
It wasn’t until Smoke stepped out to take a call that the humor thinned out. The office felt quieter without the extra laughter feeding the moment. Isaac sat on the floor near Stack’s chair, banging two blocks together.
One slipped from his hand and rolled away.
“Hey,” he said, crouching again, voice softer now. “Nah. You can’t say that, lil man.”
Isaac tilted his head, studying him. Stack held his gaze.
“That’s a grown word,” Stack continued. “That’s for—” He paused, then sighed. “That’s for when you older.”
Stack ran his thumb over Isaac’s chubby knuckles, gentler now. “If your mama hear you say that, she gon’ be hot.”
Isaac’s mouth closed. He glanced instinctively toward the hallway, like Rhiannon might materialize out of thin air, arms crossed, eyebrow raised.
Stack huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Exactly.”
Isaac looked back at him.
Then, very softly, testing the air;
Stack laughed despite himself, a short breath he couldn’t catch in time. “Boy, you somethin’ else.”
Isaac grinned, satisfied. Lesson unclear. Reaction achieved.
Stack scooped him up, resting Isaac against his chest, the weight familiar, grounding. He pressed a kiss into Isaac’s hair and shook his head.
“We gon’ have to undo that,” he murmured, more amused than serious.
Isaac babbled happily, fingers gripping Stack’s shirt.
Outside, the LA heat pressed against the windows. Inside the office, the word lingered in the air, harmless for now.
Stack didn’t know it yet, but the real trouble hadn’t even started.
The car smelled like leather, baby wipes, and whatever drive-thru coffee Stack had grabbed on the way out the building.
LA traffic rolled slow and stubborn around him, the sun low enough to glare through the windshield even with the visor down. Stack drove with one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting near the console, posture relaxed but mind already halfway home. He could picture it clearly. Rhiannon in the kitchen. Music low. That look she gave him when something was off.
Which meant he had to get this right.
In the back seat, Isaac sat strapped into his car seat, legs swinging, humming to himself. His shoes were off. One sock was missing. The other hung halfway off his foot, abandoned mid-journey. A stuffed dinosaur rested beside him, drool-darkened and well-loved.
Stack checked the rearview mirror.
Isaac caught his eye immediately and smiled.
“Hey,” Stack said. “You good back there?”
“Good,” Isaac said proudly. It was one of his newer words, one he liked because it made people nod.
“That’s right,” Stack said. “You good.”
Isaac kicked his feet twice, pleased.
They rode like that for a minute. Just engine noise, music low, the city sliding past in sun-warmed streaks. Stack let his shoulders loosen. These drives were usually calm. Predictable. Just him and his son, a small pocket of quiet before the house filled it up again.
“Where we goin’?” Stack asked casually.
Isaac thought about it. “Home.”
“Yeah,” Stack nodded. “Home. Who at home?”
Isaac’s face lit up instantly. “Mama.”
“That’s right,” Stack said, smiling. “Mama waitin’ on us.”
“Mama,” Isaac repeated, soft and happy.
Stack glanced in the mirror again. This part mattered. He kept his voice easy but firm. “So when we see Mama, we use good words, aight?”
Isaac nodded like he understood every syllable.
“Good words,” Isaac echoed.
“That’s it,” Stack said. “Good words in the house. Say ‘uh-oh.’”
Isaac perked up. “Uh-oh.”
Stack smiled. “Good. That’s a good word. You drop somethin’, you say uh-oh.”
Isaac nodded like he understood the assignment. He babbled something back, mostly nonsense but enthusiastic. The dinosaur slipped from his lap and hit the floor with a dull thump.
Stack felt it coming before it happened.
Stack let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Good job,” he said immediately. “That’s the one. That’s what we say.”
Traffic slowed suddenly. Stack tapped the brake, irritation flickering across his face before he smoothed it out. He caught himself before saying anything out loud. He was trying. Really trying.
From the back seat, Isaac leaned forward as far as the straps allowed, peering down at the fallen dinosaur.
Then, quiet but confident—
He didn’t laugh this time.
He exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes still on the road. “Nah,” he said, calm but firm. “We not sayin’ that.”
“That’s a car word,” Stack continued, glancing at the mirror. “That word stay in the car. You hear me?”
Isaac blinked, absorbing this new rule.
“Yeah,” Stack nodded. “Only in the car. Not in the house. Not with Mama.”
Isaac looked thoughtful, like this was important information. He nodded again, slower.
“That’s right,” Stack said. “Mama don’t like that word.”
Isaac processed that quietly. The dinosaur rolled slightly under the seat. He stared at it.
They rode in silence for a stretch. Long enough for Stack to think maybe, just maybe, it had landed.
Then Isaac looked up at the mirror, eyes bright.
Stack smiled despite himself. “Yeah. Car.”
Stack closed his eyes for half a second.
“Isaac,” he said, not angry but serious now. “I said only in the car, not whenever you feel like it.”
Isaac frowned slightly, confused by the nuance.
Stack softened his tone. “You say uh-oh. That’s a good word.”
Stack shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth. “Man. You pushin’ it.”
Isaac giggled, kicking his feet.
They turned onto their street, the sun dipping low, houses glowing warm and familiar. Stack pulled into the driveway and cut the engine. He looked back one more time, pointing gently.
“Listen to me,” he said. “That word do not leave this car. You hear me?”
Isaac stared at him, serious again.
“That’s right,” Stack nodded. “Car.”
As Stack opened the door and stepped out, he heard it one last time, whispered like a secret meant just for them.
Stack laughed under his breath, shaking his head as he went around to get him.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I’m still in trouble.”
The house was already alive when Stack pushed the door open.
Soft music rolled through the space, something smooth and old-school, the kind Rhiannon played when she cooked. The lights were low but warm, reflecting off clean countertops and hardwood floors that still smelled faintly like lemon cleaner. LA modern, sure, but it felt like home in a way money couldn’t buy.
Isaac lifted his head the second the door clicked shut.
“Mama,” he said, hopeful.
Stack smiled, shifting him higher on his hip. “Yeah, that’s Mama. You know she in here.”
Isaac wiggled like he might jump clean out his arms if Stack didn’t tighten his grip.
“Easy,” Stack laughed quietly. “I got you.”
Rhiannon’s voice floated out from the kitchen before she did. “I hear my baby.”
Isaac squealed, arms reaching, whole face lighting up like the sun had just walked into the room. “Mama!”
Rhiannon stepped into view, curls pulled up but already escaping. The second she saw Isaac, her tired melted clean off her face.
“There go my boy,” she said warmly.
Stack handed Isaac over, watching how easily Isaac folded into her, cheek pressed against her chest, little hands gripping her shirt like he needed confirmation she was real.
Stack leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Hey.”
She smiled up at him. “Hey, baby.”
“How you doin’?” he asked, low.
“I’m good now,” she said, rocking Isaac gently. “Y’all been out all day?”
Isaac pulled back just enough to look at her face, then touched her cheek with careful fingers. “Mama.”
“I’m right here,” she murmured, kissing his forehead. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
Stack watched them for a second, chest tight in that good way. He reached out, rubbing Isaac’s back, then slid his hand to Rhiannon’s waist. She leaned into him without thinking, shoulder resting against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“You hungry?” she asked Isaac.
“Hun-gy,” Isaac said proudly.
She laughed. “Okay. I got you.”
They moved together into the dining space like muscle memory. Stack kicked his shoes off by the door. Rhiannon strapped Isaac into his high chair while Stack washed his hands at the sink, glancing over every few seconds just to check on him.
Isaac kicked his feet, humming to himself, smacking the tray with both hands.
“Boy excited,” Stack said.
“He always is,” Rhiannon replied. “What y’all do today?”
“Work,” Isaac answered before Stack could.
Rhiannon raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh, you was workin’?”
Isaac nodded hard. “Work.”
Stack chuckled. “He think anywhere I go is work.”
Rhiannon set Isaac’s plate down. “You see Uncle Smoke today?”
At the name, Isaac’s face lit up again.
“Smoke!” he said, loud and clear.
Stack paused just a beat, then relaxed when Isaac clapped and laughed instead of saying anything else.
Rhiannon smiled. “He like Smoke, huh?”
“Too much,” Stack said. “They be cuttin’ up.”
Isaac grabbed a piece of food, dropped it. It hit the floor.
Stack stiffened without meaning to.
Isaac frowned, looked down, then said, “Uh-oh.”
Rhiannon crouched slightly, smiling. “That’s okay, baby.”
She picked it up and tossed it, then wiped Isaac’s hands. “You have fun with Uncle Smoke?”
“Fun,” Isaac said, nodding.
They ate slow. Isaac fed himself more than he needed help, even if half of it didn’t make it to his mouth. Rhiannon stayed patient, wiping his face between bites. Stack leaned over, stole food off her plate like he always did.
She smacked his arm lightly. “Stop playin’.”
“You know you don’t want this last piece,” he teased.
She shook her head, smiling despite herself. “You a mess.”
Isaac watched them closely, eyes moving back and forth, absorbing everything. He pointed at Stack.
“Yes,” Stack said softly. “That’s me.”
Then Isaac pointed at Rhiannon.
“I’m right here,” she said, voice gentle.
After dinner, Stack lifted Isaac from the chair, settling him against his chest. Isaac curled right in, thumb finding his mouth, body heavy and warm.
“You sleepy?” Stack murmured.
“Sleepy,” Isaac said quietly.
Rhiannon stepped closer, resting her head briefly against Stack’s shoulder. “I’ll start the bath.”
Stack nodded, swaying slowly with Isaac in his arms. The house felt settled now. Calm. Like the day had finally caught up with them.
Isaac blinked, sighed. “Uh-oh!”
Stack knew better than to think it was over for good. But standing there, his son heavy in his arms, Rhiannon close enough to feel her warmth, the house wrapped around them like a promise, he let the moment stretch.
For tonight, that was enough.
The bathroom is warm and foggy, steam curling up the mirror like it’s trying to write secrets on the glass. Rhiannon sits on the edge of the tub with her sleeves pushed up, one hand steady on Isaac’s little back while he splashes with both palms like he personally responsible for creating waves.
He’s in that happy, loose baby mood. Hair damp and curling tight at the ends. Eyelashes clumped from water. Cheeks chubby and pink from the heat.
“Easy,” she murmurs when he kicks too hard and sends water flying. “You tryin’ baptize the whole house?”
Out in the hallway, Stack is moving with quiet focus. Bottle warming in a mug of hot water. He tests a drop against his wrist, nods in approval. Pajamas laid out on the dresser, soft little cotton set with moons and stars. He dims the lamp low until the nursery glows amber and calm. White noise humming soft in the corner.
He likes everything settled before Isaac even walks in.
Back in the bathroom, Isaac grabs his plastic cup and concentrates hard, trying to scoop water into it without spilling. His tongue peeks out in focus.
Water dumps across his belly and onto Rhiannon’s shirt.
She sighs, amused but tired. “Baby.”
He looks down at the mess.
And very clearly, very thoughtfully, says:
Not confused. Not unsure.
“…What did you just say?”
Isaac blinks at her, eyes bright, like he proud he found a new sound.
He splashes again. Misses the cup again.
Annoyance creeps in, slow and real.
Her tone changes just enough that he pauses.
She studies him closely now. He didn’t babble it. Didn’t mash syllables together. He used it in context.
She lifts him out of the tub, wrapping him snug in the towel.
“We do not say that,” she says firmly. “That is not for babies.”
He squirms, confused by the seriousness.
She carries him down the hallway, damp curls brushing her cheek.
Stack looks up from the nursery, bottle in hand. “Everything good?”
Rhiannon walks past him without answering at first. She lays Isaac on the changing table and starts drying him off.
Stack watches her expression carefully.
She doesn’t look at him yet.
“Your son,” she says evenly, “just said a full curse word. Twice.”
Stack stiffens. “What word?”
Before she can answer, Isaac kicks his feet and supplies it himself.
Rhiannon turns slowly toward him.
“He spilled water. Looked at it. And said that. Correctly.”
Stack rubs his jaw. “Oh.”
Isaac laughs at their voices, thinking this is excellent entertainment.
Rhiannon crosses her arms lightly. “Where he hear that?”
Her eyes narrow. “Stack.”
He shakes his head. “Wasn’t me.”
Rhiannon’s face goes still.
“At the office,” he continues carefully. “Other day when you dropped him off for a bit. Smoke said it under his breath.”
“You let our sixteen month old sit in a room where grown men are cussing?”
“It wasn’t like that,” Stack defends quietly. “It slipped. He didn’t even think Isaac was paying attention.”
Isaac, as if summoned by name, beams and repeats:
Rhiannon closes her eyes briefly.
“That boy sees everything,” she mutters.
Stack nods reluctantly. “Yeah. He do.”
She adjusts Isaac’s diaper with efficient movements, still irritated.
“So now what? He just walking around the house swearing?”
“Nah,” Stack says quickly. He leans closer to Isaac. “Aye. We don’t say that.”
Isaac studies his daddy’s mouth.
“That’s not for you,” Stack continues, firm but calm. “You say uh-oh.”
Rhiannon joins in, softer. “Say uh-oh, baby.”
They both exhale at the same time.
“Good,” Rhiannon says, kissing his cheek.
Because apparently balance matters to him.
Stack turns away, hand over his mouth.
Rhiannon points at him sharply. “Do not laugh.”
“I’m not,” he says, voice tight.
She shakes her head, lifting Isaac into her arms.
“I’m calling Smoke tomorrow.”
Stack winces. “Don’t do that.”
Isaac nestles into her shoulder, sleepy now, unaware he just started interoffice policy reform.
Stack looks at his son, then at Rhiannon.
“…We gotta start spelling around him.”
Because apparently the baby has been taking notes at corporate meetings.
Morning light stretches pale and slow across the bedroom, slipping past the curtains and pooling over the hardwood floors. The house is quiet except for the low hum of the baby monitor and the faint rustle of hangers shifting in the walk in wardrobe.
Rhiannon has been up for a while.
She moves in and out of the en suite bathroom, face freshly washed, robe tied tight around her waist. Drawers open. Close. Open again. She is not slamming anything. She does not need to. The message is already clear.
From the monitor on the nightstand, Isaac babbles to himself, tossing soft syllables into the air like confetti.
Stack wakes slowly, reaching across the bed for warmth that is not there.
He squints toward the closet doorway. “You up already?”
Water runs briefly in the bathroom. Cabinet closes.
He sits up, watching her pass the doorway again, focused, composed, distant.
He tries again, softer. “Rhi.”
She steps into the bedroom to grab her earrings from the dresser.
He reaches for her wrist gently.
She doesn’t pull away fast.
He sighs. “You still on that?”
She gives him a look that could slice paper.
“Our son wakin’ up sayin’ a cuss word.”
“He ain’t even say it this mornin’ yet.”
From the monitor, Isaac lets out a loud, cheerful yell.
Stack rubs his face. “It was Smoke.”
She folds her arms. “I know it was Smoke.”
“I ain’t teach him that.”
“You ain’t stop it either.”
He swings his legs off the bed. “Rhi, he was at the office for ten minutes.”
“And that’s all it took.”
Isaac’s voice crackles through the monitor again. A loud thump. Then a clear, experimental:
Rhiannon looks toward the monitor.
Stack nods once. “See? That’s progress.”
Rhiannon closes her eyes slowly.
She walks back toward the closet, shaking her head.
He stands and follows her to the doorway of the wardrobe. “I laughed one time.”
Stack leans against the frame. “He sixteen months. He don’t even know what it mean.”
“And that’s exactly why we gotta fix it now.”
He watches her pull a dress from the rack.
“I’m sorry,” he says, quieter now. “I shoulda checked Smoke.”
“And I’ma tell Isaac we don’t say that no more.”
She turns to face him fully now.
“No laughin’. No smirkin’. No ‘he used it right.’”
She studies him for a second longer.
“If he say it in public, I’m blamin’ you.”
He huffs a small breath. “That’s fair.”
From the monitor, Isaac bangs against the crib rail and calls out brightly:
Stack can’t help the soft smile that creeps up.
Rhiannon notices immediately.
“I ain’t even do nothin’.”
She exhales, some of the edge finally easing. “Go get him.”
He steps closer, testing the waters one more time, reaching for her waist.
She lets him for half a second.
Stack comes down the stairs with Isaac balanced on his hip, one big hand supporting that little diapered bottom, the other steady at his back. Isaac is wide awake now, curls fluffed out, cheeks still warm from sleep.
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” Stack mutters, stepping into the kitchen. “You got a lot to say this mornin’.”
He straps Isaac into the high chair, pulling the tray into place.
“Aight. Sit up straight. We civilized.”
Isaac immediately slaps both palms on the tray and laughs.
Stack shakes his head, moving toward the counter. He washes strawberries carefully, slices them into tiny pieces. Halves blueberries. Peels a banana and cuts it small enough so nobody choke and nobody blame him.
He spoons yogurt into the little baby plate, smooths it down with the back of the spoon like presentation matters.
Behind him, Isaac is narrating his own universe.
Stack glances back over his shoulder. “Oh, now you conversational.”
Isaac kicks his feet hard against the high chair.
Stack leans against the counter, folding his arms like they about to negotiate something serious.
“Listen, bruh,” he says calmly. “We gotta talk.”
Isaac blinks at him. Smiles.
“I’m serious,” Stack continues, pointing lightly at him. “She ain’t even look at me right this mornin’. Ain’t say nothin’ sweet. You see that?”
Isaac babbles louder. “Ba-ba-da!”
“I know,” Stack nods like Isaac just confirmed it. “You think it funny.”
He carries the plate over and sets it down in front of Isaac.
“You can’t be out here sayin’ words like that. You a baby.”
Isaac immediately dips his whole hand in the yogurt.
Stack winces. “Why you do that?”
Isaac examines his coated fingers like he just discovered paint.
Stack leans in closer, lowering his voice.
“You sixteen months. You still wearin’ diapers. You don’t even know how to put your own shoes on. But you wanna cuss?”
Then smears yogurt across the tray.
Stack points at the mess. “See. That right there? That’s why you not ready for big people vocabulary.”
Isaac knocks a blueberry off the plate.
It rolls toward the edge and they both watch it drop.
A soft thud sounds on the floor, Isaac tilts his head.
Stack nods quickly. “That’s right. That’s what we say.”
He crouches to pick up the blueberry, tossing it in the trash.
“We retired the other word,” he continues, standing back up. “That one done. Over with. Gone.”
Isaac slaps the tray again.
“Uh-oh!” he repeats louder.
Stack points at him approvingly. “Exactly.”
He leans both hands on the tray now, eye level with his son.
“And let me tell you somethin’. You got me in trouble.”
Isaac stares, unbothered. He grabs a strawberry, squeezes it until juice runs down his wrist.
Stack sighs. “You don’t even know what it mean. You just like the sound of it.”
Isaac studies the red smear on his hand.
Stack freezes for a second, watching his mouth carefully.
Isaac opens his lips like he about to test something.
Stack shakes his head slowly.
Stack exhales, relieved. “Good.”
Stack stands in front of him with a dish towel over his shoulder, studying him like this a strategy session.
“Aight,” he says quietly, leaning in. “We finna practice.”
Isaac blinks up at him, chewing thoughtfully.
Stack taps the tray lightly. “So-rry.”
Isaac’s lips move, testing the shape. “Sah…ree.”
Stack’s eyes light up. “Yeah. That’s it. Sorry.”
Isaac grins, pleased with himself. “Sah-ree.”
Stack nods firmly. “Aight. When mama come down here, you gone say that. We showin’ accountability.”
Isaac babbles proudly like he just signed paperwork.
Footsteps start down the stairs.
Stack straightens up quick. “Okay. Showtime.”
Rhiannon appears a moment later, dressed for the day, calm and composed. She pauses at the bottom step, taking in the scene.
Isaac immediately lights up. “Mama!”
She walks over and kisses his forehead. “Hey, baby.”
Stack clears his throat gently and nudges Isaac’s tray.
Isaac looks at his daddy, then back at his mama.
Isaac beams and repeats it louder. “Sah-ree!”
Stack folds his arms, trying to look casual. “We been workin’ on vocabulary.”
Rhiannon looks at Isaac, then at Stack.
“You told him to say that?”
Isaac bangs his tray happily. “Sah-ree!”
A smile slowly breaks across Rhiannon’s face despite herself.
“Well,” she says softly, brushing yogurt off Isaac’s chin, “that’s better.”
Isaac grabs a blueberry and promptly drops it over the side.
They all watch it fall. Isaac looks down.
Stack exhales under his breath.
Rhiannon nods gently. “That’s right.”
She turns to Stack, the last bit of tension finally melted.
Before he can say anything else, she steps into him and wraps her arms around his waist. It’s not rushed. It’s warm. She presses a kiss to his cheek, then another quick one to his lips.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
Stack’s hands settle at her back, holding her there a second longer than necessary.
Up in the high chair, Isaac watches closely.
Mama soft. Daddy smiling. Arms around each other.
He kicks his feet excitedly.
Isaac bangs his tray happily. “Sah-ree!”
“Sah-ree!” he declares again, like he part of the reconciliation.
Stack laughs softly. “Yeah, you sorry alright.”
Rhiannon leans into him just a little more, resting her head briefly against his chest.
Late afternoon light spills across the living room, warm and honey soft. Toys are scattered everywhere like Isaac personally staged a colorful crime scene. Blocks tipped over. A stuffed giraffe facedown. One tiny sneaker nowhere near its match.
Isaac sits in the middle of it all, babbling to himself while trying to fit the square block into the round hole with full confidence.
On the couch, Rhiannon adjusts the angle of her phone and taps the screen.
Annie answers almost immediately.
“Hi, Rhi!” Annie smiles. “Where my baby?”
Rhiannon flips the camera toward Isaac. “Say hi.”
Isaac looks up at the screen, confused for a second. Then he grins wide.
“Mama!” he says, even though it’s not her.
Annie laughs. “That ain’t me, sugar.”
Rhiannon shakes her head. “He just be assignin’ titles.”
Isaac crawls closer to the couch, trying to grab the glowing phone.
Annie coos at him through the speaker. “You been good today?”
Rhiannon lifts one eyebrow slowly. “Define good.”
Annie’s eyes narrow playfully. “What he did?”
Before Rhiannon can answer, a familiar voice pops up in the background.
The screen shifts and suddenly Smoke’s face appears beside Annie’s.
Rhiannon leans back into the couch cushions, already ready.
Smoke squints at the screen. “What’s up?”
Rhiannon tilts the phone slightly so he can see Isaac clearly. “You see your nephew?”
Smoke grins. “My boy. What he got goin’ on?”
Right on cue, Isaac drops a block beside him.
Rhiannon nods once. “Mm-hmm. That part we fixed.”
She switches the camera back to her face. “Yeah. The other word he was sayin’?”
Annie looks between them. “What other word?”
Rhiannon doesn’t break eye contact with the screen. “The one he learned at y’all office.”
Smoke shifts. “Now hold on.”
Annie gasps lightly. “He said a bad word?”
Rhiannon nods calmly. “Clear as day. Used it right too.”
Smoke rubs the back of his neck. “I ain’t teach him.”
“You said it,” she replies smoothly. “He heard you.”
Isaac starts stacking blocks now, humming to himself.
Annie looks scandalized. “Smoke.”
“What?” he mutters. “It slipped.”
Rhiannon leans forward slightly. “Well it slipped into his vocabulary.”
Smoke sighs. “He still sayin’ it?”
Rhiannon glances at Isaac just as he knocks his own tower down.
Rhiannon smiles faintly. “No. We handled it.”
Smoke exhales in relief. “Good.”
“But,” she continues sweetly, “if he say it again after visitin’ y’all? I’m sendin’ him back with you.”
Annie laughs loudly. “That’s right.”
Smoke shakes his head. “Man, I said I’m sorry.”
Isaac suddenly toddles over toward the couch and looks up at the phone.
“Sah-ree!” he announces proudly.
The adults go quiet for a beat.
Rhiannon smirks. “We been workin’.”
Annie claps softly. “That’s my smart baby.”
Smoke squints at the screen. “Aight, aight. I hear you. I’ll watch my mouth.”
Rhiannon nods once. “You better.”
Isaac reaches for the phone again, giggling.
Smoke softens. “Hey lil’ man.”
Isaac just babbles back, completely unbothered by the adult accountability session happening over his head.
Rhiannon leans back into the couch, satisfied.
And somewhere in the background, Stack walks past shaking his head, muttering under his breath about family meetings turning into court hearings.
Isaac knocks over another block.
The house feels different at night.
Quieter. Softer. Like it finally exhaled.
Isaac is asleep upstairs, the baby monitor glowing steady on the kitchen counter. No babbling. No blocks crashing. Just the faint, peaceful hum of white noise drifting through the speaker.
Rhiannon stands at the sink rinsing out a cup, hair wrapped, one of Stack’s old tees hanging loose on her frame. The lights are dimmed low, the kitchen washed in a warm golden glow.
She glances over her shoulder.
Stack steps inside slowly, careful, like he knows he walking into something tender.
In his hands is a massive bouquet of white roses. Full. Fresh. Petals layered thick and soft, stems long and elegant. They almost look too pristine to be real.
He walks closer, setting them gently on the island.
She dries her hands slowly on a towel, eyes never leaving the flowers.
He steps around the island toward her.
“For lettin’ my household get outta order.”
Her lips twitch despite herself. “Oh, so now it’s your household?”
He reaches for her waist gently. “It’s ours. That’s the point.”
She looks up at him then.
He looks serious. Not playful. Not teasing.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I should’ve shut that down at the office. Should’ve been more mindful. He watch everything I do.”
Her expression softens completely now.
“You did fix it,” she says. “You talked to him.”
“I should’ve protected it before it even started,” he replies.
She studies him for a long second.
Then she steps forward and wraps her arms around him.
He exhales against her shoulder, hands sliding around her back, holding her like he mean it.
The roses sit behind them, fragrant and still.
“I know you ain’t mean no harm,” she murmurs.
He presses his lips to her temple. Slow and lingering.
She tilts her face up to him.
He kisses her then. Not rushed. Not dramatic. Just deep and steady, like apology and gratitude wrapped together.
Her fingers curl lightly into his shirt.
The house stays quiet. No interruption. Just the low hum of night settling in around them.
When they pull apart, she rests her forehead against his.
“White roses?” she asks softly.
“Clean slate,” he answers.
She smiles, brushing her thumb along his jaw.
“For you?” he murmurs. “Every time.”
She laughs under her breath and kisses him again, shorter this time but warm.
Upstairs, the monitor stays silent. Isaac sleeps peacefully, unaware that his little experiment with language brought home flowers and grown folks accountability.
Downstairs, Stack lifts her hand and kisses her knuckles gently before pulling her back into his chest.
And a kitchen full of white roses blooming under soft light.
Hey y’all. I thought I would take a little break from the Cowboy Carter anthology just incase there’s people who aren’t really interested in it. I hope y’all like this one, I thought it was a super cute idea & very fitting for Stack’s child LOL.
