"Devon, we didn't use protection," she repeated, louder this time. "I could—what if I'm—oh my god." She tried to push off me, but I held her steady. Not tight enough to trap her, just enough to keep her from spiraling completely. "This is insane. This is so stupid. I don't even know you. Not really. And my dad—Jesus, my dad is going to?—"
"Breathe."
"I can't breathe. I'm freaking out. I'm literally freaking out right now because what if?—"
"Rylie." I cupped her face in both hands, forcing her to focus on me. "Breathe with me. In through your nose. Come on."
She sucked in a shaky breath.
"Hold it. Three seconds." I counted silently, watching her chest rise and fall. "Now out through your mouth."
She exhaled, eyes locked on mine.
"Again."
We did it three more times until the wild edge in her gaze dulled and her breathing evened out. She was still tense as hell, but at least she wasn't hyperventilating.
"Better?" I asked softly.
She nodded, then immediately shook her head. "No. Not better. Devon, what if I'm pregnant?"
"Then you're pregnant." I said it simply. Calmly. Like we were discussing what to have for dinner.
Her mouth fell open. "That's it? That's your response?"
"What do you want me to say?" I traced my thumb along her jaw, unable to stop touching her even now. "That I'm panicking? That I regret this? Because I don't. Not even a little."
"You should." Her voice cracked. "We just met. This morning. And now I might be?—"
"Mine."
She blinked. "What?"
"You might be mine," I said, and the truth of it settled deep in my chest, solid and unshakable. "Carrying my baby. Tied to me forever. And Rylie? That doesn't scare me at all."
"It should," she whispered.
"Why?"
"Because it's crazy. Because we don't know each other. Because?—"
"I know enough." I shifted us both, sitting up so she was straddling my lap, face level with mine. "I know you care more about a diabetic cat than your own job security. I know you dream about living in the mountains. I know your dad was too strict and you never got to just be young and reckless, so you're making up for it now. I know you taste like tequila and sunshine and I've been half-hard since the second you cleared your throat in that kitchen."
A laugh bubbled out of her. "That's not knowing someone. That's?—"
"I know you're it for me."
The words hung between us, heavy and irreversible. Finally, her eyes went wide again, but this time it wasn't panic. It was something else. Something that looked dangerously close to hope.
"Devon—"
"I'm thirty-five years old," I continued, because now that I'd started, I couldn't stop. "I've been deployed to three different countries. I've fought fires in terrain that would make your head spin. I've pulled people out of car wrecks and carried kids out of burning buildings. And in all that time, through every relationship that didn't work and every woman who walked away because I was too much or not enough or just wrong, I never once felt what I felt today."
She was crying now. Silent tears tracking down her flushed cheeks.
"I saw you standing in the kitchen in that puffy coat, dirt on your face, panicking about a cat, and something in my chest just—" I pressed my palm over my heart. "Clicked into place. Like I'd been waiting my whole damn life for you to walk through that door."
"That's insane," she breathed.
