Both she and Pen look at me as if they don’t believe me.
“Hey, I’m hurt, you two.”
“Ha, the man who has spent his life running checks on people,” Pen says.
“That’s my job.”
“Is that so? How many times have you tried to get me to drop hints about whether you and Pen are having a boy or a girl?”
I shrug and grin. She has a point. She places her hands on her hips and raises an eyebrow.
“It’s okay. I’ve locked the cake in Grandpa’s old office,” Lottie says. “No one is getting a preview. Not that you have much longer to wait. You really have waited until the last minute,” Lottie says as Pen shifts on the sofa. I know she’s struggled over the past couple of nights, trying to get comfortable.
“Need a hand?” I ask.
Pen shakes her head, her brows furrowing.
“No, it’s just this ache is getting worse. My lower back.”
She groans and I help to move her forward, massaging the area she’s rubbing.
“How long has it been going on for?” Lottie asks.
“A couple of days, but it’s definitely getting more acute. Your brother or sister is getting antsy.”
“Are you sure it’s not contractions? I was reading on the internet that sometimes contractions can be an ache, especially at the beginning.”
I look between Pen and Lottie.
Shit.
Lottie’s not kidding. I thought I was the one who had read up on everything.
“It’s early,” Pen says, her eyes locking on my daughter’s.
“But not that early. Eight and a half months. When they’ve already told you you’re having a big baby,” Lottie kindly reminds Pen.
Pen’s hand goes to her back, and she begins to rub circles again.
“Help me get up,” she says. “I’m sure if I move around a bit.”
Lottie and I stand in front of Pen, and each hold out a hand. She grins at us as we haul her to her feet.
“Oh crap,” Pen says, looking down.
My eyes follow hers, widening at the wet patch now soaking its way through her trousers.
“Looks like I was right,” Lottie says, heading for the door. “Granny,” Lottie yells as she disappears before reappearing quickly.
“Don’t just stand there, Dad. I’ll grab Pen’s bag and the baby stuff. You need to get to the hospital.”
As if given an electric shock, I cradle Pen’s face in my hands, my lips landing on hers.
“Hey, beautiful. You ready?”
“No.” she grins. “But it’s a bit late for that now.”
Her hand goes to her stomach, running it lovingly over her enormous bumb. When I told her, I couldn’t wait to see her swollen with my child. I meant it and still mean every word.
