My face warms, because five years later, his voice still does that. Still reaches under my ribs and turns everything soft and hot.
Margie claps her hands like she’s closing a deal. “Perfect. While you two flirt like teenagers, I’m taking these babies for the night.”
I glance down at my belly—round, unmistakable, third baby on the way, and apparently my body’s favorite hobby is making little Coopers.
Wyatt’s hand slides around my waist without thinking. His palm settles on the curve of my stomach like it belongs there.
It does.
“Overnight,” I repeat, pretending I don’t already feel my whole body exhale at the thought of uninterrupted sleep and adult conversation.
Margie winks. “Overnight. Because you’re pregnant, and because my town needs more Cooper babies like it needs oxygen.”
Wyatt’s low laugh rumbles. “Jesus, Margie.”
Margie points at him. “Watch your mouth. You’re a father.”
Wyatt’s gaze flicks to my belly. His voice drops. “And I’m good at it.”
My breath catches. It always does, when he says something like that like it’s fact.
Margie herds Beau toward the door with the energy of a general. Beau tries to backpedal.
“Mom?” he asks, suddenly suspicious. “Why are you smiling?”
I blink. “I’m not.”
Wyatt’s hand tightens at my waist. “She’s smiling.”
Beau narrows his eyes. “Dad, you’re smiling too.”
Wyatt’s eyebrows lift. “No, I’m not.”
Beau stares at him for a beat, then nods like he’s filing that away for blackmail later. “Okay.”
Poppy squeals and reaches for me, and I take her, kissing her warm cheek until she squishes her face against mine with sticky affection.
“I love you,” I whisper.
Poppy pats my cheek like I’m the child. “Love you, Mommy.”
Beau gives me a quick hug like it’s a business transaction. “Bye.”
Then he pauses, eyes sliding to my belly. “Is the baby coming tonight?”
I laugh. “Not tonight.”
He looks relieved. “Okay. Because Margie has cookies.”
Margie beams. “Damn right I do.”
Wyatt leans in and kisses Beau’s forehead, then Poppy’s hair. His hand slides to my cheek for a brief second—just enough to ground me—before he steps back.
Margie grabs her bag, points at me like she’s giving orders. “Eat something. Rest. And if you two break that bed, Wyatt Cooper, you’re buying me a new one.”
Wyatt’s grin turns lethal. “Margie?—”
Margie waves him off. “I said what I said.”
