The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the kitchen as Ashley stood by the counter, slicing strawberries into neat halves.The early morning sun streamed through the windows, casting golden patches on the tiled floor, their glow broken only by a half-packed box sitting on the corner of the counter.She brushed a hand against its open lid, the sharp folds of cardboard oddly grounding.Moving felt like a promise–of more space, of a future filled with light and laughter–but it also came with its small ache.
Her sundress swayed lightly as she shifted her weight, the hem brushing against her knees.It was one of her favorites–soft, simple, and practical for mornings like this.A strand of dark hair slipped free from her bun, curling faintly at the end, and she blew it away with a quiet huff before tucking it behind her ear.
Her honey-hazel eyes flicked to the strawberries as she resumed slicing, her hands steady and precise.She hummed quietly to herself, the tune half-formed but persistent, one of those melodies that always surfaced when the house was this quiet.
“Good morning, Mrs.Westwood.”
His voice, low and warm, sent a ripple of pleasure through her.She turned, a smile already forming on her lips.Cole stood in the doorway, shirtless, a pair of gray sweatpants slung low on his hips.His dark hair was deliciously mussed, and there was a softness to his sharp gray eyes that he reserved only for her.
“You’re up early,” she said, her smile widening as he crossed the kitchen in long, confident strides.
“Couldn’t sleep.”He stopped just short of her, his gaze lingering.“Someone wasn’t there to keep me company.”
Ashley shook her head, trying to ignore the way his proximity made her heart quicken.“I told you–I had a craving.”
“For strawberries,” he said, his lips twitching into a smile.“At five in the morning.”
“They’re not just for me,” she replied, gesturing to the bowl of sliced fruit.“Someone else demanded them, too.”
He followed her gaze to the slight curve of her belly, and his expression softened.“Is that so?”
Before she could answer, his hands found her waist, pulling her closer.He slid them around her, his thumb brushing against her stomach in a slow, deliberate motion.
“How’s my troublemaker doing this morning?”he murmured, his voice quieter now, more intimate.
“Already calling them a troublemaker?”Ashley teased, tilting her head to meet his eyes.
“Precautionary,” he said, his grin breaking wide.“If she’s anything like you, I’m in trouble.”
Ashley rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up.He always did this–deflected with humor, made her forget whatever she was about to say.Yet it was impossible to miss the way his hand lingered, the reverence in his touch as he caressed her stomach.
“Speaking of names,” she said, her tone turning thoughtful, “I was thinking… if it’s a boy, maybe we could name him Dale.”
The room stilled.
Cole’s hand froze mid-motion, and for a moment, she saw it–the flicker of pain that crossed his features before he masked it with a faint smile.
“I hope it’s a girl,” he said lightly, brushing a kiss against her forehead.His lips lingered for a moment too long, and then he stepped away, moving to the coffeemaker as though nothing had happened.“But we’ll see.”
Ashley watched him, her brow furrowing.“You don’t like the idea?”she asked carefully, her voice quiet.
“I didn’t say that.”He poured his coffee, keeping his back to her.“I just think it’s early to decide.We have time.”
He turned back to her with his easy, practiced smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.Ashley wanted to press him, but something in his expression stopped her.
“Anyway,” Cole said, setting his mug on the counter and leaning against it.“Didn’t you promise me pancakes this morning?”
The shift was too quick, too deliberate, and it left her feeling momentarily unmoored.But she let it go, unwilling to disrupt the fragile calm between them.
“Only if you help,” she replied, matching his playful tone.
“Deal,” he said, moving to her side with a grin.
The pancakes were a mess.Cole had flipped one too early, splattering batter across the stove, and Ashley, armed with a damp towel, had insisted on cleaning it before he could.
“You’re impossible,” she said, shaking her head as she wiped batter from the counter.“How does someone with your steady hands manage to ruin pancakes?”
“And yet,” he replied, stepping behind her and sliding his hands to her hips, his voice dropping to a low murmur, “you love me anyway.”
