I try to match his slow, steady breathing, but my chest feels too tight.
“We'regonna do this,” he says tenderly, “Becauseweare having a baby. I know you're the one about to do all the hard work for the next nine months, but I'm gonna do everything in my power to make it easier on you. I'll do anything for you.” He rests his hand on my stomach. “For both of you.”
How did I get so damn lucky?
I let out a shaky laugh that's half sob. “You say that now, but what if I have those weird cravings for pickles and ice cream at two o'clock in the morning?”
He kisses away the tear tumbling down my cheek, his lips impossibly soft. “Then I'm doing pick-up and delivery.”
“What if I turn into a grumpy, mean hormone monster?” My voice wavers.
Another kiss, on the other cheek. “Good thing you're adorable when you get grumpy and mean.”
“Luke, I'm serious.” I grip his shirt. “What if I can't do this? What if I'm terrible at it?”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, one hand still on my stomach, the other coming up to tuck my hair behind my ear. “You know what I think?”
I shake my head, not trusting my voice.
“I think you're already worrying about doing right by this baby, which means you're gonna be a great mom.” His smile is warm, certain. “And yeah, neither of us knows what the hell we're doing. But we'll figure it out together. Late night feedings? We'll take shifts. Dirty diapers? I grew up on a ranch, darlin’, I can handle anything. Doctor's appointments, baby classes, all of it. I’m gonna be right there.”
“Promise?” It comes out small, vulnerable in a way I usually hate.
“I promise. You're not doing this alone. You're never gonna be alone again.”
I nod, my hands unclenching from his shirt to slide up around his neck. “Okay.”
“Okay for real?” He searches my face.
“For real.” I manage a watery smile. "But I'm definitely going to take you up on the two a.m. pickles thing. Just so you know."
His laugh rumbles through his chest, and he pulls mecloser, both arms wrapping around me now. “Wouldn't expect anything less.”
I bury my face in his neck, breathing in that scent of him that's already becoming home.
“This is real,” I murmur against his skin, as if saying it aloud will help me process it. “There's actually a baby in me.”
“There's actually a baby in you.” I can hear the wonder in his voice, feel his hand press just a little more firmly against my stomach, like he's trying to connect with the tiny life we've created. “Our baby.”
I pull back to look at him, and the expression on his face, the awe and joy and maybe a little terror mixed together, makes my heart squeeze. “Now, are you finally scared?”
“Terrified,” he admits with a crooked smile. “But in a good way. The best way.” His thumb brushes my cheekbone. “Are you?”
“So scared.” My voice cracks. “But also... excited? Is that crazy?”
“Not crazy at all.” He kisses me, soft and lingering. “We're having a baby. We get to be scared and excited and completely out of our minds all at the same time.”
“When do we tell people? Your family is going to—oh God, your family.” My eyes widen. “Your parents are going to have opinions about us not being married and?—”
He tilts my chin up. “One thing at a time. Right now, it's just us. We'll figure out the rest as we go.”
“Just us,” I repeat, letting the words settle over me like a blanket.
“Just us and our little one.” His hand splays wider over my stomach, and I try to imagine what it’s going to look like—what it’s going to feel like—when the little poppyseed-sized human inside me is the size of a watermelon instead.
“I can't believe this is happening.”
“Better believe it. Because in about eight months, you'regonna be holding our baby. And I'm gonna be right there with you.”
