Laird thought they were surprisingly cute. These movies, especially the ones about this island paradise where they ran murder mysteries. It didn’t hurt that the guy who played the cop was kind of hot in a silver fox sort of way.
“Mmmm. This is such a good idea—breakfast for dinner. How did you know that’s exactly what my tummy needed?”
“Well, you haven’t wanted a whole lot of red sauce or Señor Dragons the last couple of weeks. Not that I’m complaining. You know I love me some omelets and pancakes and stuff.” And Laird knew he was completely gone when it came to Devon. He would do anything to see his husband smile.
“The baby wants what the baby wants.” Devon chuckled, “You don’t know how many times I’ve said that in my life, and I suppose craving eggs and pancakes is not the worst thing on earth. At least they’re readily available and actually food.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, I had one omega who ate charcoal baguettes. Dirt. Chalk. Onions. It’s just wild. But I seem to be in an egg and maple syrup swing.”
“Yes, well, I’m glad I could provide.” In fact, it was very much a biological imperative. Laird winked at him. Devon hadn’t seemed to settle on anything he really cravedspecifically until recently, and it made his life easier to know what to order.
“Have you ever had someone eat something that would be really bad for them?” Laird asked.
“The worst thing has been something like antacids. But I heard some wild stories in school about omegas who really, genuinely hurt themselves. But that’s why we have so many appointments right? Lots of check-ins to make sure nobody’s being reckless.”
“Sure. Everyone tells me that will be the most frustrating thing about being a therapist. The people who might not comply with all their instructions, or who just can’t. But every medical field job has its weirdness.” Laird grinned.
“True. Like, I never get to see the babies again. Boom. Birth and done. Sometimes I get a pic of when they first get home… But that’s usually it. Now, I have a lot of friends whose kids I’ve seen grow up some, but?—”
“But sometimes you want to know how it came out.” Laird nodded. “The folks in dispatch and 911 ask us sometimes. They want to know if someone made it, and we share what we can without violating any laws.” It was a tough balance.
“Oh, I can imagine.” Devon chuckled at the movie. “This is my favorite part!”
He started chuckling. “You do like the reveal, don’t you?”
Devon rolled his eyes, so dramatic. “Are you kidding? That’s my whole job. I am the king of the baby reveal.”
Their laughter was so loud it threatened to bring down the blanket fort.
Chapter
Eighteen
Devon was having a little boy. Laird said he didn’t want to know. And Devon had sort of tried not to know, but it was really impossible.
Knowing was really the only answer. It wasn’t like he didn’t understand how to read a damn sonogram. Of course he did, and now he knew.
But Laird didn’t want to know, and so Devon had to pretend like he didn’t know.
It was driving him absolutely insane, and this wasn’t helping.
“Please tell me if the baby is a boy or a girl.” Fiona was relentless. “I know you know. I won’t tell Laird. I just want to see whether to buy little dresses or little pants.”
“Onesies, Mom. They don’t have gender.”
She shook her head. “I will buy onesies and diapers and bottles, but I also want to buy little embroidered bibs and tartans and socks. The baby’s not going to care.”
“So you want to know the name, not the gender?” he teased.
Cameron.
Cameron McCallum.
Cameron Raven McCallum.
It was a perfect name. His grandfather and Laird’s grandfather were both Camerons. Raven was the best friend he’d ever had. It was just the right thing to do.
