The tension between us softens, melting away into something fragile and real.
“I just wanted to make it nice,” she whispers.
“I know,” I say quietly. “And you did.”
We stand there for a moment, the hum of the fridge filling the silence. My heart steadies against hers, and the house feels calm again.
After we get the groceries put away, Megan heads for the shower while I start dinner. Burgers on the grill, buns toasting on the top rack, the air thick with that smoky summer smell. It feels good, simple.
I carry the food inside, and Megan’s just coming down the hall. Her hair’s wrapped in a pink towel, and she’s wearing a white ribbed tank top and soft green shorts. She’s got those little gold eye patches under her eyes again. I learned about those on the honeymoon—she talked me into wearing a pair “for fun.” I didn’t notice any miracles happening for me, but my participation made her smile and that’s all that mattered.
“Smells amazing,” she says, peeking at the plate I set on the counter.
We sit, hands finding each other naturally across the table. “You wanna pray or me?” I ask.
“I can.” She nods, closing her eyes. “Dear Lord, thank You for today, for bringing Mason home safe, for giving us this meal and this house and…each other. Amen.”
“Amen,” I echo softly, smiling at her.
“So, how was your day?” she asks just before her first bite.
“Not bad. The usual—nothing major. How about you? You get a lot done at school?”
Her face lights up instantly. “So much. I started labeling desks and putting together the bulletin boards. I’m gonna do a farm theme this year.”
I smile. “That’s fun.”
“Right?” she laughs. “Except I couldn’t find enough cow print borders, so I had to order more online. Oh, and I met a new teacher today. He’s from Montana. He’s cool; really nice.”
She keeps talking, and I just listen, watching her eyes sparkle with every detail. She talks fast when she’s excited—hands moving, voice lifting, like she can’t contain how much she loves what she does.
She takes another bite of her burger, then stops midchew, frowning.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
She sets it down and tilts it up to inspect. “It’s a little pink in the middle.”
I lean closer to see. “It’s fine, babe. You can eat beef a little pink like that. It’s juicy.”
“Juicy,” she repeats doubtfully.
“Yup, it’s good. Try it,” I assure her.
“Are you sure?”
“Promise.”
She hesitates, then takes another small bite and immediately makes a face. “Nope. Can’t do it. Something about it is making me queasy.”
I smirk. “Because of the blood?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know. It just—” She presses a hand lightly to her stomach and groans.
I watch her for a second, my teasing fading into thought. “Maybe you are pregnant.”
Her head snaps up, eyes wide, the corners of her mouth lifting into a slow, soft smile. “Maybe.”
We’ve only been married two weeks, and the thought hits me harder than I expect. We could be finding out soon. Already stepping into that next chapter. It scares me a little, but I know whatever ends up happening will all be part of His plan, and I have to trust that.
