I pulled her against my side. She leaned into me, her belly pressing into my hip, her head against my shoulder. The room smelled like fresh paint and ice cream.
The next afternoon I came home from a council check-in and the estate was in chaos. The Andrea-at-thirty-seven-weeks kind, which was less life-threatening and more patience-threatening.
Dr. Patel was in the hallway of the animal wing pressing herself against the wall as Buddy tore past her at full speed, tongue out, tail wagging, free as hell. Two kennels down, something crashed. A cat yowled.
“How long has this been going on?” I asked.
“Twenty minutes. She wanted to reorganize the supply room. Buddy got out when she opened the kennel block for more shelving space.” Dr. Patel ducked as the gray cat launched off a bookshelf and landed on a supply cart. “I’m a veterinarian, not a zookeeper.”
“Finneas, is that you?” Andrea’s voice came from deep inside the supply room. “I need you to move the shelving unit against the east wall. It’s blocking the light.”
“You’re thirty-seven weeks pregnant.”
“I’m aware of how pregnant I am. Move the shelving unit.”
I moved the shelving unit. Then I went after Buddy, who’d made it halfway down the hall and was sitting in the medical room looking pleased with himself. I chased him, cornered him, and carried him back while he went completely limp. Forty kilos ofdead weight. The look he gave me said I’d personally ruined his life. “You’re a pain in my ass,” I told him. He licked my face.
I climbed a ladder to retrieve the cats from the bookshelf while Andrea stood below giving instructions.
“Grab the gray one first. She bites.”
“You could have mentioned that before I was on the ladder.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
The gray cat bit me. Andrea photographed it with her phone, grinning.
I was standing in the supply room with a cat scratch on my hand, dog hair all over my shirt, and Andrea was reorganizing the medical supplies by category while telling me about a conversation she’d had with Mary about expanding the shelter partnership.
She stopped mid-sentence.
“I’m happy,” she said.
I looked at her. Standing between bags of dog food and bottles of antiseptic, hair in a messy knot, belly so big she had to stand sideways between the shelves, ice cream on her shirt, pricing gun in her hand. Gorgeous. Completely, ridiculously gorgeous.
“Happy like I used to be before my parents died,” she said. “I wanted you to know that.”
Fuck. My throat closed. She was standing in a supply room between bags of dog food and she just said the biggest thinganyone had ever said to me. I crossed the room and kissed her because if I tried to talk right now my voice would crack and I’d never live it down. She tasted like the ice cream she’d been eating all day and the cat scratch stung when I put my hand on her face and I didn’t care. She kissed me back, her free hand fisting my shirt, pulling me closer until Alex kicked against my stomach.
She pulled back. “Also. The mating bond. After Alex. After I’ve recovered, after the hormones settle. I haven’t changed my mind. I just wanted to say it again so you know it’s real and not pregnancy brain.”
“I never thought it was pregnancy brain.”
“Good.” She handed me a box of antiseptic wipes. “Now help me sort these. The expiration dates are a disaster.”
I sorted antiseptic wipes with a cat scratch on my hand and dog hair on my clothes. Andrea directed from between the shelves, her belly bumping supplies off the edges, and I kept reaching across her to catch things before they hit the floor. The afternoon light was warm through the supply room window. Buddy was howling softly from his kennel, still upset about the recapture. The gray cat was grooming herself on the bookshelf like nothing happened.
We finished sorting around five. Andrea’s back was aching so I walked her inside while she leaned on me and complained about the shelving being too close together. I made her dinner. She ate half of it, fell asleep on the couch with Buddy at her feet, and I carried her to bed at nine because she was out cold and snoring lightly, which she would deny if I ever mentioned it.
I lay beside her in the dark, her back against my chest, my hand on the belly where Alex was doing his nightly gymnastics routine. The estate was quiet. The gray cat was probably plotting something. Buddy was asleep in the animal wing. The bassinet was in the nursery, assembled, the curve facing out, the label mocking me from six rooms away.
I fell asleep thinking about ice cream and Swedish instructions.
Then she grabbed my arm.
Her fingers dug into my bicep hard enough to bruise and my eyes snapped open. Her face was pale in the dark, jaw clenched, her other hand gripping the sheet.
“Finneas.” Her voice was tight, controlled, scared underneath. “I think it’s time.”
