Page 46 of Reluctantly Ever After (The Oops Baby Club #2)

Three months later…

The most annoying thing about being thirty-six weeks pregnant isn’t the swollen ankles, or the constant bathroom trips, or even the backaches that keep me up at night. It's the fact that Kasen James was right about absolutely everything, and now I'll never hear the end of it.

"I told you we'd be amazing together," he murmurs against my ear, his hand resting possessively on my hip as we watch the crowd mingle in Timber's packed tasting room. "Both in business and in bed."

"Way to be subtle," I mutter, even as I lean into his touch. "Half of Portland's craft beer scene can see you."

"Let them see." His breath is warm against my neck, sending an embarrassing shiver down my spine. "I'm not the one who insisted we keep our relationship professional in public."

I roll my eyes but can't stop the corners of my mouth from twitching upward. "That was before I looked like I swallowed a beach ball and everyone could do the math."

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through me in a way that makes my toes curl inside my ugly as hell flats. But swollen feet are no joke.

The joint Timber-Cascade celebration is in full swing. Portland's beer snobs are out in force, pretending they've always supported us while secretly wondering how the hell Kasen James and I ended up married with a baby on the way. If they only knew about Vegas and Elvis and tequila shots...

God, all this standing is killing my feet. These might be the world's most comfortable flats, according to the sales girl, but she clearly wasn't hauling around an extra thirty pounds and a tiny human who thinks my bladder is a punching bag.

Kasen's hand splays across my stomach, his tattooed fingers making my skin tingle even through the fabric of my dress.

The blue one he insisted on buying after I rejected it at that maternity store months ago.

"It makes me want to rip it off you," he'd said, and I'd rolled my eyes so hard I nearly gave myself a headache.

But damn him, he was right again. Not that I'd ever tell him that.

The man's ego barely fits in this brewery as it is.

But I look amazing in it.

I scan the room, spotting Kieran deep in conversation with the Seattle distribution guys. Three months ago, I'd have been right there, closing deals and making connections in that take-no-prisoners way that built Cascade from nothing.

Now? I'm weirdly content just watching from the sidelines as Summit practices what feels like an entire MMA fighting routine in my belly. Kasen’s hovering beside me like I might suddenly get the vapors if he steps away for two seconds.

It should irritate me. It would have driven me insane three months ago.

But somehow I'm actually... enjoying it?

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Pregnancy hormones are a bitch.

But also, so is falling in love because now I’ve become this.

So sappy with all these feelings and ugh.

"Did Miller's lawyers ever respond to that cease and desist?" Kasen asks, nodding toward the Eugene brewers who've recently jumped ship to our distribution network.

"Yep." I can't help the smug grin that spreads across my face. "Full retreat from the Portland market, just like we demanded. Kieran framed the letter and hung it in my office."

"Of course he did." Kasen laughs, and god that sound does all sorts of things to my insides. "What about those other contracts?"

"Another brewery signed yesterday," I tell him, not bothering to hide my pride. "The Henderson account expanded to include their seasonal line, and we've got meetings with two new microbreweries next week who are practically begging to join our network."

"And Timber's revenue is up eighteen percent since bringing distribution under Cascade." His fingers trace distracting patterns on my back. "We make a good team, Pink."

"We do," I admit, looking up at him. "Though I still think your winter porter needs more body."

"And I still think you're full of shit." But there's no heat behind it. Just that teasing undercurrent that somehow transitioned from genuine hostility to our weird version of foreplay.

Clover appears through the crowd, balancing Noble on her hip. The kid's gotten huge in the past few months, his chubby cheeks and grabby hands a terrifying preview of what's coming for us in a few short weeks.

"There's my favorite sister-in-law," she greets, attempting an awkward hug with Noble and my belly squished between us.

"I'm your only sister-in-law," I point out, but accept Noble's sticky hand when he reaches for me. "Unless Kasen's hiding another wife somewhere."

"God, one is more than enough," Kasen mutters, earning himself an elbow to the ribs.

"How are you feeling?" Clover asks, eyeing my belly with sympathy.

"Like I'm housing a future soccer star who's determined to break my ribs," I reply, wincing as Summit delivers a particularly enthusiastic kick. "But otherwise fantastic."

"Enjoy these last few weeks of sleep," she warns with that knowing smile all mothers seem to have. "Pretty soon you'll be lucky to get three consecutive hours."

"Don't remind me." I force a smile even as my back screams in protest. Just one more hour, then I can go home, take off this bra, and make Kasen rub my feet while I complain about everything.

Kasen doesn't miss my wince. Of course he doesn't. The man has developed some kind of freaky sixth sense about my discomfort.

"We should probably head home soon," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Before, I'd have bitten his head off for that authoritative bullshit. Now, I'm embarrassingly grateful for the excuse to leave early. Even though it’s our party, I don’t really want to be here anymore.

"Fine," I give in. "But only because these shoes are killing me, not because you're telling me to."

His knowing smirk says he sees right through me, but he doesn't call me on it. "Of course. It's all the shoes."

We make our goodbye rounds, Kasen's hand never leaving my back as we navigate the crowd. His constant touches used to drive me crazy in the worst way. Now they're just... always there. A steady reminder that I'm not alone. That I have a partner in this mess of a life we're building.

When we finally make it to his truck, I collapse into the passenger seat with an embarrassing groan of relief.

"That bad?" he asks as he slides behind the wheel.

"Worse." I kick off my flats and rub at my swollen ankles. "I think I'm retaining more water than the Columbia River."

Without a word, he pulls my feet into his lap and starts working his thumbs into my arches. His hands should be illegal—those strong, calloused fingers finding every aching spot with devastating precision.

"You don't have to do that," I say, even as I sink deeper into the seat and let my head fall back against the window.

"I know," he replies simply.

We sit there in the parking lot, the party continuing without us, as my tattooed, beanie-wearing husband massages my sausage feet with a gentleness that still surprises me.

This is the same guy who once got so mad at my keynote speech at the Northwest Craft Alliance that he "accidentally" knocked over my presentation notes right before I went on stage.

The same guy who now carries pregnancy-safe snacks in his truck because I might get hungry at random times.

The universe has a weird sense of humor.

"Ready to go home?" he asks after a few minutes.

"Yeah," I say, reluctantly putting my flats back on. "Let's go home."

The drive is short, but I still manage to fall asleep. When we pull into the driveway, I blink awake to find Kasen watching me with an expression that still makes those grasshoppers jump around in my stomach.

"What?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious. "Do I have drool on my face?"

"No." He brushes a strand of pink hair back. "Just wondering how I got so lucky."

"Ugh, stop." I wrinkle my nose but can't fight the smile tugging at my lips. "You're getting sappy in your old age, James."

"And you're getting soft," he counters. "Never thought I'd see the day when Wren Callan let someone take care of her."

"I'm not soft," I protest. "I'm strategically conserving energy. Big difference."

Inside, I make a beeline for the couch, collapsing onto it with zero grace. Summit responds with a series of kicks that make my belly visibly ripple through my dress.

"Someone's active tonight," Kasen says, kneeling beside me. His face lights up when he feels the movement. "Hey, buddy. You partying in there?"

"I swear he knows your voice," I say, watching Kasen's expression soften as he talks to our son. "He always gets more active when you speak."

"Smart kid." Kasen looks so proud that it catches me off guard, and then he glances up at me with every ounce of love he feels for Summit and me unguarded right there on his face. I never knew I could feel like this before him. "Takes after his mom."

"Flattery will get you everywhere."

"I'm counting on it." His hand slides up to cup my breast, his thumb brushing over my nipple, which is approximately a thousand times more sensitive than it used to be. "These still sore?"

The seemingly innocent question sends a jolt of heat straight between my legs. "Maybe a little," I admit. "Why do you ask?"

His eyes darken. "Just making sure you're comfortable."

"I'd be more comfortable without this dress on."

"That can be arranged." He stands, offering me his hands. "Upstairs?"

"God, yes." I let him pull me to my feet. "But only if you carry me. My ankles won't survive the stairs."

Without hesitation, he scoops me up in his arms, cradling me against his chest like I weigh nothing instead of being about a thousand pounds because of his giant baby.

It's a testament to how strong he is, and to how much shit's changed between us, that I'm actually letting him do this without fighting him.