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We’re on our way to my twenty-six week appointment when Tristan’s phone starts ringing over his truck’s Bluetooth system.

“Richard Redmond calling,” the robotic female voice tells us.

He glances over at me. “I need to take this. It’s my lawyer.”

I nod, and he answers. “Hello, Richard.”

He doesn’t warn his lawyer that he’s got somebody in the car with him, which only serves to build the trust between us. He doesn’t care that I’m sitting here and listening to every word. Instead, he wants to share everything with me, and that means something big to me.

My chest warms and my heart squeezes as I sit quietly in the passenger seat.

“Tristan, I have good news for you for a change,” Richard says.

“I’m listening.”

“There’s a benefit to holding residence in the state known for quickie divorces. It may have been two years in the making, but right now I hold in my hand your final divorce decree,” Richard says, and I can’t help when I squeal a little.

Tristan sinks back into the driver’s seat, his shoulders moving down as if he’d been hunching them for two years with the weight of his mistake.

“Thank God,” he murmurs.

“Well, I’m not God, but you’re welcome anyway.” Richard laughs.

“I can’t believe it,” Tristan says, wonder in his tone. “Can you send me a photo of it?”

“Already done, Tristan. It’s waiting in your email. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

“Anything else I can do for you, you know how to get in touch,” Richard says.

“Of course.” Tristan ends the call then exhales a long, slow breath. He glances over at me with an eyebrow raised and a smile tipping the corners of his mouth.

“Congratulations,” I say.

“Same to you,” he replies, a hint of teasing in his tone.

“For what?” My brows crinkle as I try to imagine what he’s getting at.

“For the best sex of your life that’s about to happen.”

I giggle. “It’s about to happen? When?”

“Oh I have plans. Big ones.”

When I look over at him, I can’t help but wonder what he’s got up his sleeve. But then I realize I don’t really care.

We can finally be together, and that’s all that matters. Whatever invisible barrier I put between us was plowed down with those finalized papers.

He pulls into a parking spot and grabs his phone once we arrive at the doctor’s office, and he pulls open his email. He clicks the attachment, and he turns his phone toward me.

We stare at the picture of his divorce decree. I wonder what he’s feeling right now as he looks at that piece of paper.

I know what I’m feeling. Hope. Excitement. Love.

And a little bit of fear.

I have to admit even if it’s just to myself that I’m a little scared of actually being with him again, and not just the spotlight and the fame and the money that come as part of his package.

I’m scared of it ending again. I’m scared that forces out of our control will signal the bitter end for us the same way they did the first time.

We’re in a place now where we can fight back, but the notion of falling in love with him again, of really being with him again, only to have it ripped away…it’s fresh at the forefront of my mind.

It’s something I didn’t really have to worry about until this very moment.

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

He blows out another breath, and he leans his head back on the headrest before turning his head toward me. His eyes are bright with hope when he says the single word: “Free.”

He races around to my door to help me out, and he holds me in his arms for a beat as we stand between his truck and the car parked next to us. He presses a soft kiss to my lips.

He’s free. I’m free. We are free. We can finally be together.

I just hope it’s everything we both think it will be.

We head inside for the appointment, and I’m taken back to a room for my exam. Tristan sits in the chair in the corner, and when the tech comes in to take my vitals, he stands and holds my hand. She starts with my blood pressure, and then she rubs some gel on my stomach and uses a fetal doppler to listen for the heartbeat.

We don’t hear anything for a beat as she pushes and adjusts the machine, and my chest tightens.

Is everything okay?

I feel this way every time, and eventually they find it.

But those five seconds of waiting are filled with fear.

My hands turn icy and Tristan’s grip seems to strengthen.

And then we hear it. Swoosh-swoosh, swoosh-swoosh, swoosh-swoosh.

A sense of relief calms my chest, and I loosen my tight grip on Tristan’s hand.

“One forty-two,” she says, and Tristan glances at me.

“A hundred forty-two beats per minute. The normal range for right now is between one hundred forty and one hundred fifty,” I explain.

“Is this your first time attending an appointment?” she asks him, and he nods. She smiles at him. “Baby is doing well, and so is Mama.”

“Thank God for that,” he says. He looks at me. “A day filled with great news.” His eyes burn into mine, and it sends a dart of need through me.

Maybe it’s weird, but suddenly I’m turned on at the doctor’s office.

Thanks, Tristan.

The doctor comes in to check me out and assures me everything looks normal, and then I make my next appointment in four weeks and we’re on our way.

“Do you have plans tonight?” Tristan asks on the way back toward Fallon Ridge.

I shake my head. “Just my usual nine fifty-seven meeting.”

He chuckles. “Can I take you on an overnight date?”

“I would love that.” I glance over at him a little nervously, and his eyes meet mine.

He reaches over to squeeze my hand, obviously sensing my nervousness. “What’s wrong?”

“I just…” I draw in a breath. “My body, it’s not, you know—it’s not like it was when I was seventeen. I’m pregnant, and my stomach is huge and my boobs hurt and I’m a little self-conscious about what I look like right now.”

His eyes soften as they turn back to the road. “Can I tell you something if you promise to believe every word I say?”

My brows knit together. “Okay…”

“You’ve never looked more beautiful to me, Tessa Taylor. I can’t wait to take my time with that body. I can’t wait to kiss every inch, to taste you, to touch you. Besides, I don’t look like I did when I was seventeen, either.”

“Yeah, but you’ve gotten firmer with age,” I argue. “More athletic. More cut. I’ve gotten fat.”

“You’re not fat. Your body is doing the most incredible thing a body can do. You’re creating life in there. I’m fascinated by that. It’s fucking hot, babe. You have nothing to worry about. Trust me.”

I wrinkle my nose. “You think I look hot ?”

His eyes meet mine again before he turns back to the road, and I can see plainly written there the truth in his words before he even says them. “I think you are the most gorgeous woman I have ever laid eyes on.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, and suddenly, because of his words of praise, the negative thoughts in my own mind seem to quiet. They might not disappear altogether, but right now, seeing the way he looks at me, how he’ll look at me when I’m naked and his for the taking, I know I will feel like a gorgeous woman simply because he sees me as one.