I sit up slowly, my hand moving to my stomach. Still flat, but not for much longer, according to Dr. Patel. I try not to think about Tucker’s assertion that Stag babies grow big.
Better to focus on the physical space.
The bedroom is gorgeous in the morning light. Enormous, with that sitting area Tucker mentioned, the walk-in closet, the ensuite bathroom with a tub big enough to swim in. The bed is absurdly comfortable—some fancy mattress that manages to be the exact perfect firmness I like.
But what gets me are the small details I missed last night when I was too exhausted to notice.
As I wander around, I notice a basket on the dresser brims with snacks—crackers, dried fruit, those lavender candies from the doctor's office.
He thought of everything.
I make my way to the bathroom. The counter has been cleared—empty except for a note in Tucker's handwriting propped against the mirror:
Towels in the closet. Make yourself at home. - T
I open the drawers to find them lined with that fancy shelf paper, completely empty and waiting. The medicine cabinet's the same—cleared out, ready for my things.
He gave me his bedroom and moved himself into the guest room without complaint.
I brush my teeth and head back out to explore.
The living room looks different in daylight—less intimidating, more lived-in. My boxes are stacked neatly by the wall, labeled in my own handwriting. But what catches my eye are the shopping bags piled by the door.
So many bags.
I move closer, peeking inside the first one. Bamboo crib sheets in soft neutrals—gray, cream, sage green. I pull out another package. More sheets. A third bag has receiving blankets, also bamboo, also expensive.
"Jesus, Tucker," I mutter, moving to the next bag.
A sound machine. Swaddles. A baby bathtub. Hooded towels with little animal ears. Everything is high-quality, thoughtfully chosen, ridiculously expensive.
And then I see the box.
It's huge, leaning against the wall, and the picture on the side shows a sleek double stroller. I recognize the brand—European, featured in all the "best of" lists I've been secretly reading at 2 AM when I can't sleep. A four-figure gadget.
I sink onto the couch, staring at the pile of supplies. He went shopping. By himself. And bought everything we might need and then some.
My phone buzzes.
Tucker
Morning. How'd you sleep?
I stare at the message, then at the shopping bags, then back at the message.
Good. You bought a lot of stuff.
Tucker
Too much? I can return things.
A $2,400 stroller might be a little extra.
Tucker
It has the highest safety ratings. And it converts from infant car seats to toddler seats. We'll use it for years.
We could use it to drive the babies to college.
