Page 69 of Healed By the Grumpy Elf

"Sprite Sniffles?"

"Most likely. It's that season again." He takes a careful bite of toast. "She specifically requested that Nurse Maeve be informed of her condition."

I smile at that. Millie has remained our most enthusiastic supporter since the Pixie-Pox incident. "Tell her I'll check on her tomorrow at school."

"I will." Lorian hesitates, then adds, "I was thinking, perhaps this weekend we could visit the nursery in Portland. There's a rare varietyof moonflower I've been researching that might thrive in the north corner of the garden."

I open my mouth to respond when a sudden wave of nausea washes over me. The smell of the strawberries, which had seemed so appealing moments ago, now turns my stomach. I push back from the table abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor.

"Maeve?"

I don't answer. I can't answer as I clap my hand over my mouth and rush from the kitchen to the bathroom down the hall. I barely make it in time, dropping to my knees on the cool tile floor as my stomach heaves.

Lorian appears behind me instantly, gathering my hair back from my face with one hand while the other supports my forehead. His touch is gentle, steadying.

"Breathe slowly," he instructs. "Through your nose if you can."

I follow his direction, the worst of the nausea passing after a few moments. He reaches above me to dampen a washcloth in the sink, then hands it to me.

"Thank you," I murmur, wiping my mouth and leaning back against the cool porcelain of the bathtub. “But don’t worry. I’ve been throwing up every morning for a while now.”

Lorian kneels beside me, his clinical gaze assessing. "How long exactly?"

"A few mornings now."

His brow furrows. "And you didn't mention this because…?"

"Because I'm pretty sure I'm going to be dealing with this for quite a few mornings in the coming months," I say, unable to keep a small smile from forming despite feeling queasy.

Lorian's expression turns concerned. "A viral infection with that duration would be concerning. I should take a blood sample."

I start to laugh, which isn't the best idea given my unsettled stomach, but I can't help it.

"What?" Lorian asks, clearly confused by my reaction to potential illness.

"For someone so intelligent, you can be remarkably dense sometimes," I tease, reaching for his hand. "Think about it. Morning nausea that lasts for months?"

He stares at me blankly for a moment, then his eyes widen as understanding dawns. "Are you…"

“Yes.” I nod, my eyes suddenly filling with tears. “I wanted to be sure before I told you.”

"A child," he whispers, the word falling from his lips with reverence. “We’re going to have a baby.”

"Yes."

Lorian goes absolutely still, his face a mask of stunned disbelief. For a moment, I worry he's not happy, but then I see it, the faint blue glow beginning to emanate from his eyes, the elven response to intense emotion he can't quite control.

"It’s wonderful," he says, his voice thick. "Our baby."

His hand reaches out, trembling slightly, to rest against my still-flat stomach. The touch is so gentle, so full of wonder that fresh tears spring to my eyes.

"How far along?" he asks, medical training asserting itself through the emotion.

"About eight weeks, I think."

Lorian leans forward and kisses me with such tenderness it makes my heart ache. When he pulls back, a single tear tracks down his cheek.

"You're crying," I whisper, touching his face.