“It does hurt,” I admit. “I’m pregnant, Hudson. Everything hurts.”
His jaw tightens immediately as if I’ve just confirmed his worst fear.
Ivy, our four-year-old daughter, sighs dramatically where she’s sitting at the kitchen table. “Daddy’s being weird again,” she announces before taking another bite of her pancake.
Hudson points at her without taking his eyes off me. “Your mother should be sitting down.”
“She was sitting down,” Ivy says patiently. “Then she got up.”
Hudson looks at me like that somehow makes it worse. I bite back a smile and turn away before he can see it.
Five years later, and this man still loses his mind every time I so much as wince.
Actually… scratch that. He’s worse now, much worse, especially since I got pregnant again.
“You should let me do that,” he grumbles, reaching for the bowl.
“You don’t know how to bake.”
“I can learn.”
I snort softly. “You almost burned down the kitchen trying to make grilled cheese last month.”
“That was one time.”
“It was three times.”
Hudson mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like betrayal while he carefully takes the spoon from my hand anyway.
I lean against the counter, rubbing my belly as I watch him stir the batter with the same intensity he uses during billion-dollar meetings.
Dark hair slightly messy, gray Henley stretched over broad shoulders, wedding ring glinting under the kitchen lights. He’s still grumpy, still terrifying everyone except me, still completely obsessed with me.
My chest warms as he glances over at me again. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Your feet hurt?”
“A little.”
“You should sit down.”
I laugh softly. “Hudson?—”
Before I can finish, a sharp cramp tightens low in my stomach. “Ow.”
The word slips out before I can stop it, and Hudson freezes.
The spoon clatters onto the counter.
“What?” he asks in a panic, already reaching for me.
“It’s nothing.”
“Hazel,” he warns.
“It was just a cramp.”
