Page 179 of The Backup Plan

“Can’t wait.”

We tour the rest of the downstairs and then head up the short flight of stairs.

“Loft,” he says. “There’s so much we can do with this space.”

“Hmm,” I say.

“Laundry room.” He opens the door as if he’s making sure he’s right. He’s cute and it makes me smile.

But I’m about to turn the tables on him.

I open the last door at the end of the hall.

Light spills in—soft and golden. The backyard stretches beyond the window, grass new, and trees swaying in the breeze.

“This,” I say casually, “will be the nursery.”

“Okay,” he says. “But it’s farthest from our bedroom.”

“Yeah, but it has the best light. The crib could go there. Rocking chair under the window. The changing table right here.”

The silence behind me is cautious.

“You say that like you’re expecting a furniture delivery tomorrow.” He laughs and shakes his head.

“No. Wednesday,” I say as normal as possible.

“What do you mean on—” He pauses. “Emery?”

“Hmm?”

“Emery.” It’s more forceful this time.

I turn. He’s frozen in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame like the ground just shifted.

I meet his shocked eyes. “I’m pregnant.”

His gaze drops slowly to my stomach, still flat and unnoticeable.

“Oh,” he breathes. Then again, softer. “Oh.”

Within seconds, he sinks to his knees in front of me, choking over the words, “A baby,” as he repeats them over and over. He presses his forehead to my belly and wraps his arms around me.

“I’m going to be a dad,” he whispers.

“Yes,” I say, tears burning. “You are.”

He kisses my stomach in silent disbelief.

And I already know with absolute certainty that Lucas will be the parent his parents never were.

Present. Steady. Fierce in the ways that matter.

He looks up, eyes shining with tears. “I guess we should probably stop being too busy to plan the wedding.”

I laugh through the emotion. “Probably.”

I point out the window to the backyard. “I was thinking . . . maybe out there.”

“Perfect.” He stands, cups my face, and presses the sweetest of kisses to my lips. “A baby,” he whispers, still testing the reality of it.

“It’s real. All of it.”

We stand, forehead to forehead, in the house we built—no stadium lights, no noise, no pressure—just us, finally still. Visualizing a future neither of us ever imagined for ourselves.

And knowing, without question, we wouldn’t change a single thing about the journey that brought us here.

“Think I finally found something to top orange slices and Gatorade,” I murmur.

Lucas barks out a laugh before kissing me again. “Yes. This definitely tops that.”