Page 44 of Reluctantly Ever After (The Oops Baby Club #2)

The drive home feels different somehow. Like the universe is shifting, realigning itself around the decision I haven't made yet, but know I'm going to. The wedding ring in my pocket feels heavier than usual, warming against my thigh.

I pull into the driveway to find Wren's car already there. The house is lit up, warm golden light spilling from the windows. For a second, I just sit there, engine off, staring at our home.

The front door opens before I can reach for the handle. Wren stands there in one of my flannels—the blue one that makes her eyes look more blue than gray—and leggings I itch to peel off of her.

"You're late," she says.

"Banks was giving me life advice."

"God help us all." She steps back to let me in. "How's Noble?"

"Wise beyond his years. He made some excellent points about overthinking." I hang up my jacket, catching her scent as I brush past her and I greedily suck it down into my lungs.

"Are you going to share these excellent points?" She follows me to the kitchen.

"Later maybe." I drop the shopping bag I grabbed on the way home onto the counter. "I grabbed us dinner."

She peers into the bag. "The Thai place on Morrison?"

"Your favorite."

"My favorite tonight. Next week, it'll be that Hawaiian place on Hawthorne. I can already feel it."

"And I'll go there too," I say, pulling containers from the bag. "Because your weird pregnancy cravings are somehow cute instead of annoying."

“Yeah, right.”

"They are." I set down the pad Thai and meet her gaze. "And you look beautiful, by the way. Just like this, barefoot in my flannel, stealing my food."

"It’s just some mango sticky rice. I think you’ll survive without it," she says, but she's fighting a smile now.

"Whatever. That’s why I got extra, because you’re always taking my food,” I say, pulling another container of rice out of the bag.

I pretend she didn’t just say something that fucks me up a little bit more over her. “Just like you've taken my hoodies, my side of the bed, and most of my sanity."

Her eyes narrow. "You're being weird."

"Am I?"

"You've been weird for weeks. Jumpy. You stare at me when you think I'm not looking.

And you've been really helpful lately. Like, suspiciously helpful.

" She props her hands on her hips, which makes the flannel pull tight against her tits, which have gotten so much bigger these past few months.

My mouth waters and not for dinner. "What's going on? "

Before I can answer, she gasps and grabs my arm. "He's kicking."

I drop everything and put my hands on her belly, feeling the movements beneath my palms. "Holy shit.”

"Yeah." Her voice softens. "He gets really active around dinner time. Like clockwork."

We stand there for endless seconds, my hands on her stomach, feeling our son move. The weight of it nearly knocks me on my ass. I take a second to commit every bit of this right here to memory. I never want to forget this feeling.

"We need to talk about names," I say, because suddenly I can't think about anything else.

"Not this again." She groans, but she's leaning into me now.

"We can't keep calling him 'him' forever."

"Why not? It's working so far." She captures my hands, pressing them firmer against her belly. "Feel that? That's his version of disagreeing with you."

"Smart kid." I rest my chin on her shoulder. "What about James?"

"For the baby who's going to be James James?"

"James Kasen James has a nice ring to it. We can call him JJ."

She turns in my arms to face me and glares at me. "Not a chance in hell. And I will die on this hill."

"What about?—"

"Kasen." She cuts me off, her hands sliding up my chest. "Let's eat dinner first, then we can argue about names. I'm starving."

"When aren't you starving?"

"Shut up and feed me." But she's grinning as she grabs plates from the cabinet.

We settle at the table with our Thai food, the conversation flowing easier than it ever has.

She tells me about her day, about how Kieran accidentally ordered 'premium matte finish' business cards that cost three times the budget but look incredible.

"Worth every penny," she laughs, "but he was panicking about how bad my wrath was going to be. "

I watch her talk, animated and passionate, gesturing with her fork. There's pad Thai sauce at the corner of her mouth, and her hair is literally falling out of its bun. She's beautiful and ridiculous and mine.

The ring in my pocket feels like it's burning through my jeans.

"What?" she asks, catching me staring.

"Nothing." I clear my throat and change the subject. "What about Theodore? We could call him Teddy."

She makes a face. "He sounds like a professor who corrects people's grammar at dinner parties."

"Oliver?"

"Too trendy."

"Sebastian?"

"Too pretentious."

"For fuck's sake, Pink. You hate everything I suggest."

"Because your suggestions are terrible." She steals one of my spring rolls. "What about something outdoorsy? To go with the nursery theme?"

"Like Forrest? River?"

"No." She pauses, chewing thoughtfully. "Although..."

"Although what?"

"What about Summit? Like a mountain peak. It’s strong." She spins her fork. "And it's not as pretentious as naming him Mount Rainier or something."

I consider it. "Summit James." I test it out loud. "I think I like it."

"Holy shit, we actually agreed on something." She looks genuinely shocked. "Quick, get your phone out. Document this moment."

"Don't get cocky. We still haven't talked middle names."

"One miracle at a time." She pushes her empty plate away. "I'm exhausted."

"Want an early night?"

"Mmm." She stands, stretching, one hand automatically going to the small of her back. "Come to bed with me?"

It's not really a question, and I'm already following her down the hall.

In the bedroom, she strips out of my flannel and her leggings, climbing into bed in just her underwear and my t-shirt. I follow, turning off the lights before joining her.

She curls into me, the way she's been doing for weeks now. Like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like her body can’t help but gravitate toward mine.

"Your turn to pick a middle name," she murmurs against my chest.

"William. After my grandfather."

"The one who built the original bar at Timber?"

"You remember that?"

"I remember everything about your brewery. Had to, for reconnaissance purposes."

I snort. "For reconnaissance?"

"Know thy enemy." But there's no edge to it anymore. Just warmth and sleepiness.

"And now?"

"Now you're not my enemy." Her hand finds mine on her belly. "You're so much more.”

My heart flips over. The ring is still in my jeans pocket, but my jeans are on the floor. This isn't the right time. There's no candlelight, no fancy restaurant. It’s just us in the dark.

But Banks was right. I'm not a grand gesture kind of guy.

"Wren."

"Hmm?"

"I need to ask you something."

She tucks herself closer into me, her face buried against my neck so I can feel her breath on my skin. It goes straight to my dick, but with my nerves, it doesn’t get fully hard. "If this is about baby names again?—"

"It's not." I pull the elastic out of her hair and run my fingers through it. "I want you to stay married to me."

She goes still. "That wasn’t a question."

"We're Vegas married. Drunk married." I take a breath. "I want you to be really married to me. Because you want to be, not because we got hammered and Elvis pronounced us man and wife."

"Kasen..."

"You're right, that wasn't a question." I shift so I can see her face in the dim light. "Wren Callan, will you stay my wife?”

She blinks up at me but says nothing, so I keep going.

"I know this isn't romantic. We're in bed about to fall asleep and you're wearing your underwear and there's probably still pad Thai in your teeth.

" She lets out a surprised laugh. "But this is us.

This is real. And I love this version of us more than any of the stupid proposals I've been planning for weeks. "

"You've been planning a proposal?"

"Elaborate, stupid proposals that keep getting derailed because life keeps happening." I shift so I can see her face in the dim light. "But you know what? Life happens. With us. Every day. The good and the messy and the shitty. And I don't want to stop."

She's quiet for so long, I start to panic. Then I feel wetness against my neck.

"You're crying?"

"Shut up." But she's smiling through her tears. "You're being sweet and it's freaking me out."

"Pink—"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I'll stay married to you, you idiot." She sniffles. "Only because you're right. This is us. And somehow it’s everything."

Relief floods through me, followed immediately by something deeper. Something that feels like finally coming home after being lost for years.

"Really?"

"Really." She leans up to kiss me, and it's soft and sweet and tastes like tears and Thai food. "I love you, Kasen James. Even when you overthink things and bring home new beers for me to critique when I can't even drink them and leave your sketchbooks all over my clean kitchen counters."

"I love you too." I pull her closer, feeling our son push against me. "You and our son and this whole ridiculous life we're building."

"Summit William James," she murmurs against my neck. "Has a nice ring to it."

"Better than James James."

"Uh, just a little." She laughs, the sound vibrating through both of us. "We should probably tell people we're married, huh?"

"I think a lot of people already know. Your mom does, Reed, Banks, Kieran. Everyone else can wait until tomorrow," I say, already sliding down her body to kiss her neck. "Right now, I want to show my wife how much I appreciate her saying yes."

"Technically, I said yes months ago. I just didn't remember it."

"Semantics." My mouth finds that spot behind her ear that makes her shiver. "You're saying yes now, and that's what matters."

"Kasen."

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

I do. And as I strip her underwear off and settle between her thighs, this beautiful, infuriating woman who's somehow become everything to me, I realize something profound:

Somehow, the biggest mistake of my life turned out to be the only thing I've ever gotten completely right.

"I love you," I whisper against her skin as she sighs my name.

"I love you too," she breathes back. "Now less talking, more doing."

I laugh. "Yes, ma'am."

And as I lose myself in her, I know with absolute certainty that whatever challenges await with a newborn and two businesses—we're ready.

Because what started as the dumbest mistake of my life has become the smartest thing I've ever done.

Even if I was too drunk to remember it at the time.

Later, as Wren sleeps beside me, her hand resting on her belly and our son moving beneath her skin, I finally dig the ring out of my jeans pocket. In the moonlight filtering through our bedroom window, I slip it onto my finger where it belongs.

Where it's always belonged.

Tomorrow I'll put her ring back where it belongs too. But tonight, I just want to lie here with my wife, listening to her dream, feeling like the luckiest bastard in Portland.