She laughs softly. "I'm not the first woman ever to be pregnant."
"No, but you're mine." I dip my head toward hers and kiss her. Desire arcs through me, ratcheting even tighter when she moans softly into my mouth. I'd love nothing more than to undress her right where we stand and bury myself inside her, but I have more important things to do. I force myself to break our kiss, but only so I can drop another one on her nose. "You need to eat."
She doesn't argue or resist. Taking her by the hand, I bring her into the large kitchen. I set the printout on the island where I can see it and turn to find Avery already settling onto a stool.
"What's for lunch, chef?"
"Chicken," I tell her, standing at the refrigerator and pulling out what I need. "Plenty of vegetables. Some of that iron-rich spinach Dr. Wilson mentioned."
She arches a brow at me, although she hardly looks surprised. "You memorized the nutrition guidelines."
"I memorized everything she said."
She smiles. "I'm glad one of us was listening and taking mental notes. I think I was too busy trying not to cry once we got that first glimpse on the monitor."
"Who says I wasn’t?" I shake my head, still marveling at the whole thing.
I pull out a cutting board and start prepping, moving around the kitchen to gather ingredients and tools. Avery watches me, and I feel her gaze on me like something physical. The way she's looking at me, the way her soft, oversized button-down shirt is undone just enough that I can see the swell of her breasts and the soft skin I’m dying to touch, is a distraction I can barely resist. It takes effort to keep my focus where it belongs. On taking care of her. On feeding her and our baby.
Olive oil in the pan. Garlic, then onion. The sizzle fills the space between us while I move through the motions on autopilot and my mind catalogs everything else she needs. Prenatal vitamins. She's already taking them, but I should double-checkthe dosage. More leafy greens in the fridge. Foods to avoid—the doctor rattled off a list of them. Soft cheeses, deli meat, raw fish. I'll have the housekeeper stock up tomorrow and clear out anything she shouldn't have.
This is something I can control. Something concrete I can do for her.
"You know," she says, "if you keep feeding me like this all the time, I'm going to forget how to cook in the microwave."
I glance at her and smirk. "Microwaves are only good for defrosting and popcorn."
With her chin propped in her hand, she laughs, watching me like I'm doing something interesting instead of just making a simple dinner. The light from the window catches her soft blonde hair. Those gorgeous green eyes gaze at me as if I’m the only man in the world.
How the fuck did I get so goddamned lucky?
Before her, I’d stand at this same stove more evenings than I can recall, contracts spread across the island where she’s sitting now, takeout containers on the counter because I couldn't be bothered to cook for one.
The silence in this place used to press against my ears like something physical. I worked. I slept. I fucked occasionally, forgettable encounters that were only about letting off steam. I closed deals and crushed competitors and told myself that was enough. Told myself I had it all. That I didn’t want anything else.
All lies. I wanted this. I wanted her, even before I knew there was someone out there like Avery. I wanted this life so badly I couldn't even admit it to myself.
The food comes together fast. I plate both portions and carry them to the island, settling onto the stool beside her. My thigh presses against hers when I sit, and she leans into the contact. I find myself watching her as much as the food in front of me. Every bite she takes awakens something primal in me. The needto provide for her, to know she's nourished, that our baby is getting what it needs.
“Mmm. Nick, this is so good.”
She makes a low sound of appreciation, and my cock stirs despite the fact that we're doing nothing more than eating lunch. Christ. Even now.
I stab a bite of chicken on the end of my fork. “The doctor asked if we want to know the baby’s gender.”
“Right.” She chews a small piece of zucchini, her gaze studying me. “I thought we should talk about it in private.”
I nod, recalling the look that passed between us in the examination room. As with so many other aspects of our life together, we’d been in sync then too. “So, what do you think? Do you want to know ahead of time?”
She sets down her fork. Slowly shakes her head. "I want to wait. Be surprised." She glances up at me, and there's a vulnerability in her expression that makes my chest tight. "I know that's not really your style. You like to plan. Control the variables."
She's not wrong. I've built my entire life around knowing what's coming before it arrives. Every deal, every negotiation, every potential threat assessed and prepared for. The idea of walking into something this big without knowing the answer goes against every instinct I have.
But something happened when I heard that heartbeat. Something cracked open in me that I'm still trying to understand. "I want to be surprised too."
Her eyes widen slightly. "Really?"
I reach over and take her hand, threading my fingers through hers. "Being in that office with you today made me realize there are some things that are better left unplanned. No strategy. No preparation. So let’s just find out together whenever our kid decides to make their entrance."
