Page 11 of A Taste of His Angel

3 months later

The only thing more shocking than finding an open box of pregnancy tests in my teenage daughter’s bathroom is taking one of the pregnancy tests myself, which came back positive. With my fortieth birthday around the corner and with children in elementary, middle,andhigh school, I thought we were well and truly beyond having more children.

“That dream you had…” My mind zips as I think back to that day I visited Sherman in his office and how hungry—even more than usual—my husband has been for me ever since. Putting the puzzle pieces together, I stare at the test, my palm resting on my lower belly. “You lied about not remembering. It was about having another child, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” he answers with a grin in the mirror, pressing his chest to my back and sliding his hand over mine, propping his chin on top of my head. His amusement falters when I frown. “Are you upset?”

“I’m not…not sure,” I answer truthfully.

“About me or that you’re pregnant?”

“I’m not sure,” I repeat. “You don’t think we’re too old to be starting all over again?”

Spinning me around so that I’m leaning against the vanity, Sherman cups my cheeks. “Who says we’re old?”

“The gray in my hair.” Streaks of silver are now woven into my light brown braid, the faintest of fine lines appearing at the corners of my eyes and lips almost overnight.

“Ah, but we’re young here,” he whispers, kissing my temple. “And here,” he says, kissing his way down my neck and stopping at my chest over my heart. He kneels to press his ear to it, listening to its beat with his sturdy, supportive, loving arms wrapped around my back.

“You know what this means, though, right?” I ask, excitement dawning and bubbling up the longer he holds me, imagining my stomach growing firmer once more and the look of marvel that will be sketched across Sherman’s face when our unborn child first kicks his hand.

“What does it mean, angel?”

I turn his face up, finding my own amusement as the reality of our situation ripples through him when I say, “Our baby is going to be younger than our first grandchild.”

“Good God Almighty, help me.”

—THE END—