“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” Owen said from his position against the wall.
I shot him a look. “That’s very helpful. Thank you for that valuable contribution.”
“I try.” He was watching me with those blue eyes, tracking my movement. His arms were crossed over his chest, one ankle hooked over the other, the picture of casual ease.
I was approximately three seconds away from spontaneously combusting.
“How are you so calm?” I demanded, stopping mid-pace to glare at him. “This is... this is huge. Life-altering. Potentially life-creating. How are you just standing there like we’re waiting for pizza delivery?”
“I’m not calm.” He pushed off the wall, closing the distance between us in two strides. His hands found my shoulders. “I’m terrified. My heart is beating so fast I think it might actually explode. But I also know that no matter what that test says, we’re going to be okay.”
I stared up at him, trying to borrow some of that certainty. “How do you know that?”
“Because we’re us.” He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. “We’ve already survived secret dating, angry phone calls from Jax, an elopement officiated by Elvis, and your terrible taste in movies. A pregnancy test is nothing.”
“My taste in movies is excellent.”
“You made me watch a film where the main character fell in love with a ghost who could only communicate through pottery.”
“That’s a classic.”
“That’s a fever dream.”
My lips twitch. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Doing what?”
“Trying to distract me with banter.”
“Is it working?”
“A little.”
He smiled, soft and warm, and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Good. Because I meant what I said, Har. No matter what’s on that test, we’re going to be okay. If it’s positive, we’ll figure it out together. If it’s negative...” He shrugged. “We’ll keep practicing until we’re ready to try for real.”
“That’s very romantic.”
“I’m a romantic guy.”
“You eat cereal out of a mixing bowl.”
“A very romantic, practical guy.”
I laughed, the sound slightly hysterical, and buried my face in his chest. His arms came around me immediately, solid and sure, and for a moment I just breathed him in. Let his steadiness anchor me.
“I’m scared,” I admitted against his shirt.
“I know.”
“What if it’s positive? What if I’m not ready? What if I’m a terrible mom and I mess everything up and our kid ends up in therapy talking about how I…”
“Harlow.” He pulled back just enough to look at me, his hands cupping my face. “You’re going to be an amazing mom. When we’re ready. Which maybe isn’t today, but that’s okay too.”
“But what if…”
“No more what-ifs.” His thumbs brushed across my cheekbones. “Whatever that test says, we handle it. Together. That’s what we do now. That’s what being married means.”
Married.
