Page 67

She has her profile to me, standing at the counter when I enter the room, and I stop, watching her. All parts of her are filling out, her hips a bit wider, her ass a bit thicker. It’s not just her stomach and breasts that are changing, it’s all of her.

She’s beautiful, and the minuscule ways she’s changing every day make me glad I’m not missing a moment of this.

Thank God for food trucks and morning sickness creating a nasty combination.

“Hey,” she says, jumping as she notices me probably staring at her like a stalker. “You okay?”

“You’re beautiful.” The admission tumbles out of me.

A blush hits her cheeks and she looks away, glancing down at the counter. She does this often when I compliment her, as if she’s not used to receiving them, but fuck that.

It’s now mission one for me to make her know how beautiful she is, inside and out, every day. I go to her, unhesitating when I reach her, and lift her by the waist, setting her on the counter. Her knees widen and I step in, pressing myself against her body, my hand to her stomach.

“How’s Squirt?”

She rolls her eyes playfully. “That sounds gross.”

“Bean?”

“Not really a fan.”

“We have to think of something.” “It” makes me think of Stephen King or the Addams Family. Not the cutest name for a baby.

“Pumpkin?”

I flash her a feigned, mock look. “You think our baby will be orange?”

She slaps my hand away. “It’s a nickname, not a prophecy. Besides, two more weeks and we’ll know what we’re having.”

“Yeah.” Jesus. She’s turning me into a sap. I press my forehead to hers, staring down at my hand as I move it back to her stomach. She thinks she felt “Pumpkin” move the other day, then thought it was gas. I’d laughed so hard I snorted. According to the book she finally bought where we have dog-eared pages all over the place, it’s still early. But God, I want to feel that. That first kick, that first proof that there really is something inside her, something we created. “What do you think?”

“Girl.”

“Yeah?” I glance up. It could be her mother’s intuition. I picture bows and ribbons and dance classes and boys…oh shit, the boys. The teenage little fuckers. “No. It has to be a boy.”

That way I only have to think about one penis. Not everyone else’s. Holy shit. I’m going to be adad.

“You okay?” Cara asks, her hand at my cheek.

“I’m going to be a dad.” I don’t know what look I give her, but her jaw drops and a soft laughing sound comes from her.

“You’re just now realizing this?”

No. I’m not an idiot. I’ve known this since she told me. But there’s something about the reality. Our ultrasound coming, names. The swell of her belly. God…how did I not realize there was actually a person in there before this?

“I think reality is just starting to hit me.” Fucking hell, I sound like a pussy, but damn it, I’ve been talking about honesty, and was pissed last night that she’d held out on me. I can’t give her that now. I won’t.

“I think…” I say, lifting my eyes to see hers, beautiful blues crinkled at the edges. She’s still laughing at me and rolls her lips together. “I don’t think I’m ready.”

Her lips part and she breaks out into a wide smile. “Oh, thank goodness!” She laughs again and yanks me to her, throwing her arms around my shoulders. “I’m so glad to hear this!”

I rub my head against her shoulder, pressing my lips to her neck. “What?”

“You always seem so confident. I’m always so terrified I’m going to screw something up. You thinkI’mready for this?”

No. It’s the beauty of it. Neither of us is ready, yet somehow we’re making it work. Not just making it work, but we’re doing it together.

“We can do this, right?”