Page 47 of The Risks of Reuniting (Love Connections #1)

Three years and a few months later . . .

CHLOE

My dangling llama earrings tickle at the side of my neck as the moving truck bounces over yet another pothole.

If I didn't know better I'd think Holt was hitting them on purpose.

It's day three of our cross-country road trip and I swear it didn't take this long when we moved from Salt Lake to Chapel Hill.

This moving van is slower, the freeway is busier, the miles of emptiness are longer, and I'm over it.

Being pregnant will do that to a person.

My hand rests over my rounded belly and I rub away an ache where the baby's bottom wants to live underneath my rib cage. My third trimester is really testing my desire to have multiple children.

Holt has one wrist flopped casually over the steering wheel, and the other arm is leaned against the window of the U-Haul van, propping up his head. He's humming along to the radio, his ball cap shading his dark eyes as he watches miles of nothing pass us by.

He hasn't asked me even once today if I want a donut, and I'm a little chapped about it.

"Is Allie all settled into her new place?" he asks when he notices me looking his way .

"Yep," I nod. "She was out yesterday. She sent me pictures of how clean the condo is."

I don't tell him about the banner that's hanging over the couch in the living room, or how everyone is going to meet us there for a surprise graduation party for him.

It's a big deal, getting his PharmD degree.

It's an even bigger deal that he was able to get a job back in Salt Lake City, where we still have my condo, and where our families can be involved with the baby.

It's been an amazing three years. We've solidified our relationship as a couple, faced some challenges, laughed and teased . . . and yet he still doesn't understand that this child growing within me needs a chocolate cake donut every morning or things don't feel right.

As a doctor, he should know these things.

I'm forced to sigh.

The sound has him leaning up and looking closer at me for a second before his eyes go back to the long stretch of highway. He's shaved his beard, and I watch as his jaw clenches for a moment.

"You feeling okay?" he asks in a concerned tone.

He's been freaking out a bit about me making this drive at thirty-two weeks pregnant.

I was more freaked out about making the drive with a newborn and told him it had to happen ASAP after his graduation date.

I want to be settled into the condo before the baby comes, not doing all of this while figuring out parenthood, and new jobs, and balancing family demands again.

In fact, I'm kind of happy that I haven't found a new hygienist position yet. With the baby coming soon we decided I'd start my own maternity leave now and look for a job when he's a few months old .

Yeah, he . We're so excited.

I've already planned how I'll turn the second bedroom of the condo into a nursery, and how I'll take him on walks around the community, and how I'll put the rocking chair under the window so I can see the stars during the middle of the night feedings.

"I'm fine," I reply in a way that says the opposite is true.

He straightens a little, looking closer while trying to keep the huge moving truck aimed straight. "What is it, baby? Are you having Braxton Hicks contractions? Is your sciatica acting up? Do we need to stop and move a little?"

I shake my head. All of those are normal and while they aren't fun, I wouldn't make a thing about them. I tug my maternity shirt tighter over my stomach and shift a little.

"No," I say.

He chews his lip in thought and then bursts out laughing, a sound that makes me startle in my seat.

"Baby needs a donut?" he asks, lifting his eyebrows as he looks at me.

I nod, smiling and wrinkling my nose. "He does."

"Already giving the baby everything he asks for," he teases. "He's going to be a nightmare as a toddler."

I grin. "I'll risk it."

His smile softens. "I remember a woman who avoided risk at all costs."

My chest warms with affection and I reach to put my hand on his knee. "She took the one important risk, though, and it paid off."

He switches his hands so he can take mine and nods. "I'm going to buy you a donut. A gratitude donut."

I squeeze his hand. "I think we'd better get you one too."

Because I might be uncomfortable, and a little grumpy, and tired, and outgrowing my clothing at an alarming rate, but I've got the life I always dreamed off, and the man who makes everything right. . . and that is worth more than an entire box of donuts.