June sighed wistfully. “God, he’s like the UPS guy, but hotter.”
That earned a round of knowing smirks from the group.
Bella wasn’t exaggerating. Brooks’s surprise packages—most of which he had delivered himself, usually in the dead of night—had started last week, after the team had gotten back from our series in Chicago.
It had been little things at first—a jar of overpriced pickles that was big enough to feed a defensive line, a bottle of bougie (and vegan) prenatal vitamins, a pair of ridiculously soft socks that I had taken to wearing to bed almost every night. Because apparently, I was the one pregnant person who ran cold—more like freezing—instead of hot, shivering under layers while everyone else complained about hot flashes.
Then, the boxes had started getting bigger—a weighted blanket that I may or may not have napped under for two days straight, a heating pad shaped like a cat that had come in clutch after a particularly grueling bus ride. And then there was the night my phone buzzed with a text from him.
Brooks
Need me to grab you more avocadoes?
Me
I’m pregnant, Brooks. Not bedridden.
Brooks
Is that a no?
I’d been curled up on the couch, dressed in my rattiest pair of period-stained sweatpants, and watching reruns ofDateline. Without thinking, I shot him another message.
Me
You know what I really want? A slice of Jo’s maple pecan bread.
It had been an impossible ask. I’d known that. Would Smell as Sweet had already closed for the night; there wasn’t another bakery for forty miles. And yet, three hours later, there’d been a knock at my door—and a still-warm loaf waiting on the porch, wrapped in a tea towel.
It had gotten to the point where I couldn’t go outside without half expecting to find him there, arms loaded up with saltysnacks and nipple balm like some kind of pregnancy-themed Santa Claus.
Mm, another bearded Daddy . . .
Damn, these hormones were getting out of hand. Two rounds with my go-to vibrator this morning weren’t cutting it.
“Don’t keep us hanging,” Nessa said around bites of popcorn. “Not to go full Brad Pitt, but ‘what’s in the box?’”
I chewed on my lower lip. “Oh, nothing too exciting. Just a seventy-two pack of cereal boxes.”
June blinked rapidly. “Seventy-two?”
“I kind of have a thing for Frosted Flakes right now,” I said, nodding.
Nessa smiled. “The man knows your love language.”
I rolled my eyes, but there was no hiding my smile. “My love language is ‘not having to cook dinner if I can help it.’”
Kaylani shifted in her seat, one hand flying to her belly. “Oh, there it is again.”
“Is he kicking?”
“More like tap dancing.” Her grin was soft and a little dazed as she looked at me. “Want to feel?”
I hesitated for half a second, unsure if I was intruding on something intimate, but curiosity won out. Leaning over, I placed my palm against the smooth curve of her stomach, the fabric of her wrap dress warm from the sun.
“Right there,” she whispered, guiding my hand a little lower.
A second later, a firm, fluttery thump pressed back into my palm, quick and certain, like a tiny knock from the inside. I glanced at her, eyes wide, but she was still watching me with that knowing, serene smile only pregnant people who were further along seemed to have.
