As my rough hands fluff up a tiny cream-colored pillow with pink polka dots, I grin to myself. Looking around, this is definitely the girliest room I've ever been in – or could have ever imagined, to be honest.
Even though Bridget didn't want it pink, the entire space is feminine. I've been informed that it's not "yellow" – it'scornsilk, withgolden forsythiatrim. All of the pink accents, like the curtains and pillows and bedding, can be switched out for blue, if we want or need to redecorate in a few years.
Picking up a white bunny, it looks so small in my hands. The softest footstep in the doorway makes me turn with a wide smile. I've thought Bridget was gorgeous from the first moment I saw her, but these days she is glowing like an angel. Her hands cradle our unborn child as she shuffles in, settling into the big wooden rocking chair.
"I'm so glad that we got the big one. You were right," she says, stretching out her legs.
Dropping to my knees, I lift her foot and begin dragging my thumbs along her instep. "We need a chair that will fit me as well. Believe it or not, I really am going to help with as much of the middle of the night stuff as I can."
"I know you are." She reaches out, palm skimming along the top of my head before her fingers curl around my ear. "I already know that you're going to be an amazing father."
"Does being a good father include unpacking the last of the pillows?"
Bridget looks around the room at the white bassinet, and the rounded cream loveseat that will be big enough for both of us. "Definitely."
Switching to her other foot, I wait until she exhales sharply as some of the tension leaves her body. "Consider it done. Does being a good father also include buying a present for the mother?"
Her warm brown eyes light up. "You shouldn't have!" We both hear her stomach rumble slightly. "Unless the present is ordering takeout from Rose's Diner, in which case, I'd love it if you did."
Standing, I brush a kiss on her forehead before turning to the closet. Bridget gasps as I pull out a guitar case, set it on the loveseat, and unfasten the clasps for her.
"Remember when you mentioned that swamp ash has an incredible guitar tone that makes it very valuable?"
Bridget's eyes widen even more as her perfect lips fall open for several seconds. "You didn't."
"Of course I did."
Opening the case, she gasps, tears instantly filling her eyes. Over the past few months she's been tearing up at movies, phone commercials, and whenever I make a particularly spectacular dinner.
Her fingers flutter to her lips. "It's… It's beautiful."
"No, you're beautiful. But this is indeed a very striking guitar." Picking it up, I set it awkwardly in Bridget's lap, then hand her a pick from a pocket in the case.
She laughs at the strange angle. "I doubt they make guitar straps that extend enough for pregnant women."
Once she's settled, I return to the closet to pull out a small stand that fits neatly in the corner. "I figure if you keep one of your guitars in here, we can find out if the baby likes the sound of it. Maybe it will calm her down when she's fussy."
Bridget strums a few chords, blinking away her tears as she grins. Her playing is now smooth and sure, and she always looks so comfortable with a guitar. Well, up until the last month when our daughter grew quite a bit in there.
"Wow, this sounds incredible," she murmurs. "Thank you so much. I love that it's made from wood from your forest."
"Ourforest," I correct her for the millionth time. Even though we've been married for almost two years now, she hasn't quite grasped that everything that has ever been mine is now hers.
She was very quick to take my last name though, which made me feel both proud and relieved. Nobody would dare come after an Oakley here in Oakton. Yet another layer of protection in case her father ever crawled out of the woodwork looking for her.
My latest report told me that he was involved with some skirmish at the prison, though, so he will definitely not be up for parole for a good long while. I was going to tell Bridget when I found out three days ago, but figured that news could wait a few weeks until after the baby is born.
As she strums away, I chuckle more to myself than to her. "Remember how you said you were terrible when you started your lessons? Baby, you sound so good now."
"Thank you." As always, her smile lights up my heart.
Swallowing to clear the lump in my throat, our contented breathing echoes around the room along with the guitar. "Nowthisis a country song," I say softly, sitting back at her feet to massage her ankles and calves. "A man and a woman and a baby on the way."
"I'll work on it," she says, strumming a different chord pattern. "While I'm at it, I can keep working on our name lists."
I attempt to pin her with a stern glare. "We are not naming our baby Jolene. "
Bridget laughs merrily.
