Page 151 of The Devil of Downtown

Not metaphorically. Literally. My body locks. My mind goes completely blank. I stand there, staring at my wife, as if the concept of language has just abandoned me.

Seconds pass. Maybe more.

She tilts her head. “You’re very quiet.”

I swallow. Hard.

“You are... sure?”

“Yes.”

Then she adds, tone light. “You’re the father, in case you’re wondering. God knows you’ve been practicing enough.”

“How long?” I manage.

“Not long,” she says. “I wanted to wait until after tonight.”

Of course she did.

I drag her into me, forehead pressed into her hair, breath leaving me in something that might be a laugh or a prayer. My hand stays exactly where she put it, like it’s always belonged there.

“Jesus, Ivy,” I say, voice hoarse

She smiles against my chest. “Is that good or bad?”

“This,” I breathe, my hand brushing her stomach, “is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Her smile breaks wide.

I kiss her again, slower this time.

“We should go,” she says eventually. “There’s a party waiting. Closing night is usually wild.”

I nod once. “And this?”

She places her hand over mine, still resting on her stomach. “This stays ours. For now.”

I lean in, forehead to hers. “I can do quiet,” I say. “Briefly.”

She laughs under her breath. “Good.”

She reaches for the door, then pauses, glancing back at me.

“You okay?” she asks again.

I don’t hesitate this time. “More than okay.”

She smiles again, turning back to the door. Before she steps out, I grab her wrist.

“Maybe we should go home,” I say. “Rest.”

She looks back at me, one hand settling on her hip. “I’m not sick. I mean, I won’t be dancing on any tables.”

Her eyes narrow slightly as she takes in my expression, the tension I’m failing to hide. Old fears surfacing.

“Hey.” She steps closer, looping her arms around my neck. “Nothing’s going to happen to us,” she says softly. “I promise.”

Her lips brush mine, and I lean into it.