No, it was the quieter moments that stuck with me. The everyday, ordinary parts of him that made life feel steady, even when mine had always been anything but. I saw it in the way he braided Carolina’s hair in the mornings, his big hands clumsy but careful, tongue caught between his teeth in concentration. And the way his glasses fogged up when he leaned over a sink full of dirty dishes, muttering about the water temperature like it had personally betrayed him.
Lately, he had taken to reading bedtime stories—or box scores orBelow Deckweekly recaps, whatever really—to our baby girl. And every time, something in me lit up right alongside him. The sound of his voice, low and steady, with his hand spread across my stomach—it made me feel like our daughter already belonged here, folded seamlessly into the rhythm of us.
And it made me fall for him all over again, in a way I hadn’t known was possible. That knowledge grounded me more than anything else. No matter how swollen, exhausted, or unprepared I felt, I knew I wasn’t doing this alone. And I didn’t just mean the whole parenthood thing.
I meant life.Love.
“Alright,” Nessa said suddenly, clapping her hands together. “Before we continue the ogre massacre, we have something else to do first.”
My brow furrowed as Jo disappeared into the tavern’s kitchen and returned a minute later carrying a cake box with the Would Smell as Sweet logo stamped on top. Nero followed, carrying a stack of small plates, forks, and napkins shaped like . . . witch hats?
“What is this?” I asked, suspicion rising.
“You said you didn’t want a baby shower,” Nessa said with a small smile. “But you said nothing about a cake.”
“Or presents.” Clarke pulled a gift bag from beneath her seat.
Jo set the cake on the table and flipped open the lid to reveal a gorgeous, white-frosted thing with piped vines and tiny sugar dragons marching across the top. The wordsWelcome, Tiny Goblinhad been scrolled across the center in curling pink and purple script.
“Oh my god.” My throat tightened. “Jo—”
“Don’t cry yet,” he said, wagging a finger. “Not until you taste it. And I promise, it’s not celery flavored.”
I laughed, even as my eyes burned. Clarke handed me the bag, insisting I tear into it right away. Inside were a series of small, thoughtful gifts—a soft swaddle covered in tiny bats and moons, a picture book of queer fairy tales that Nessa had hunted down, a pack of onesies Jo had embroidered with sarcastic phrases likeFuture Dungeon MasterandCritical Hit on Poop Saves.
Even Nero had slipped in a pair of teeny-tiny baby Converse—black, of course—tied together with a ribbon. “She’s gonna need good footwear to keep up with the two of you,” he said with a shrug, like it wasn’t the most gut-punching thing I’d ever seen.
At the very bottom of the bag was a small velvet pouch. I untied it to find a set of rainbow-colored dice, glitter catching in the low light of the tavern. Nessa smirked. “For when the goblin is old enough to play with us. Gotta start ‘em young.”
That did me in. Tears spilled hot down my cheeks, and for once, I didn’t bother trying to wipe them away.
It wasn’t big or fancy or a Pinterest nightmare of bows and games like matching a baby’s name to their celebrity parent. It was even better.
“Okay,” I managed, voice breaking. “This is perfect.”
“Good,” June said smugly, raising her glass of tea, which was likely spiked, in a toast. “We love you, Dani Bernal. You and your tiny potato.”
The words wrapped around me like armor, warm and indestructible. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that with friends like mine, my little potato goblin was going to be the luckiest adventurer in the realm.
Later that night, the smell of fresh paint hit me the second I walked in the house. Technically, it was Brooks’s, but at some point in the past few months, it had started to look more likeours.
I hadn’t stayed at the townhouse for weeks. The baby stuff from my registry and his ridiculous dadchelor party was piled up high in the corner of the living room, my shampoo now lived in the shower right next to his, and most of my shoes and clothes had sneaked their way into his closets, little pops of black tees and denim wedged between his endless rotation of athletic gear.
I was the Hot Topic to his DICK’s Sporting Goods.
Best of all, there were no roommates to accidentally run into in the hallway after a midnight fuck or bang on the bathroom door when I was sucking Brooks’s dick.
“Brooks?” I called out, dropping my loot from today’s Dungeons & Dragons session-turned-baby shower by the door.
“Upstairs, kitten.”
I smiled as I started up the stairs, my hand brushing the banister. Just the thought of him waiting at home for me was enough to make my chest ache. And then, of course, my brain served up the memory of the little souvenir he’d come home withafter his so-called dadchelor party—my name forever tied to him in the form of a tiny kitten tattoo, inked right above his heart.
The image still made me melt. Every time I saw it, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to tease him or climb into his lap and kiss him senseless. Usually, I did both.
Upstairs, I padded down the hall, tugging my hair out of its braid, already rehearsing how I was going to tell him about the absurdly adorable wand-shaped rattle Nessa had insisted the baby needed. But the second I crossed the threshold to the spare room at the back of the house, every thought in my head evaporated.
It wasn’t a spare room anymore; it was a nursery.
