Page 156 of Daddies' Holiday Toy

I’m glowing now, not because pregnancy is some magical, perfect state—it’s not, I’ve already learned that—but because they make me feel safe.

Desired and cherished.

Most mornings I spend wrapped in their arms, pleading for them to never let me go. This morning is different though.

It’s reopening day.

Today, I wake up to sunshine.

It spills in warm, golden strips across my bedspread, filtered through the sheer curtains that sway ever so slightly from the draft of the heater under it.

The winter morning doesn’t have that usual harsh brightness it normally does. Instead, it’s soft, letting me ease into the day without a fight.

For a moment, I just lie there, letting it wash over me.

My first thought is how different my body feels lately.

Not unrecognizable, just…changed.

Heavier in ways I can’t see but can feel in my bones, softer in places that make my clothes fit differently.

It’s not an unwelcome change, but one all the same.

My hand drifts to my stomach.

The faintest curve greets my palm.

It’s still small, easy to hide, if I wanted to.

But I don’t.

Not anymore.

I stretch slowly, the pull of muscles making my joints pop in that satisfying morning way, and that’s when I feel it.

The weight of something warm and solid moving against my left side.

That’s how I know I’m not alone.

Sure enough, Liam’s arm is slung heavy across my hip, the back of his hand resting low enough to make my pulse flutter.

His breath is slow and deep against the nape of my neck, each exhale sending a lazy warmth down my spine.

Jack is on my other side, close enough that his body heat seeps through the thin layer of blankets between us.

One of his hands rests lightly over my waist, loose, like even in his sleep he needs to keep a part of himself touching me.

And then there’s Reece.

He’s half on his stomach, half on his side down near the foot of the bed, his big frame taking up far more space than necessary.

His arm is stretched out, hand cupping gently around my ankle like he’s anchoring me here, making sure I don’t drift away in the middle of the night.

We really need to get a bigger bed…

For a long moment, I don’t move.

I just breathe them in.