Page 129 of Everything But Mine

She lets out a shaky exhale. “I want to kiss more.” She croaks out the words as if she has to choose. “Lie with me.”

I push my fingers in one more time before crawling to her side. When I mold my front to her back, the room is quiet except for the sound of our breathing and her heartbeat against my chest. She snakes her arms until she finds my right hand, and intertwines my sticky fingers with hers, then brings my knuckles to her mouth, kisses each of them, and finally, circles my index finger with her tongue. After bringing our hands to the low part of her belly, I kiss her shoulder.

Amanda’s belly shapes around a limb, as the baby moves under my touch.

“Hey,” I whisper, pressing into her belly. A strong, steady kick thumps back.

Her next words come through a smile. “He always knows when we’re having a moment.” She brushes her thumb over the back of my palm. “This should’ve been you and me from the start,” she says. “I should have kept you closer.”

“Hey.” I lean on my elbow and shift her to look into her eyes. “I didn’t keep myself together.”

Her gaze flickers, but I won’t let her avoid my eyes. “You have to raise another man’s child for us to be together.”

“Beckett’s mine.” I dip down so my lips touch hers. “However it happened, you’re making me a dad.”

I hold her for a long time, letting her feel that there’s no fear or expectation, just clarity. “I want to ask you something soon. Not tonight. But… soon.”

She meets my eyes. “Anytime.”

CHAPTER FORTY

AMANDA

Ikeep the apartment door propped open while sitting on a box labeled Amanda’s Books while the baby moves low in my pelvis. Beckett’s getting ready. At thirty-seven weeks, he could come any minute. Eric’s worried we waited too long to move, and we’ll bring him home to an unpacked mess. I wouldn’t change anything, though.

The front door opens to a small entryway, giving way to an open-concept space with the living, dining room, and the kitchen. The windows are tall, taking up the entire far wall, and the soft fall light pours in through red and yellow leaves. There’s a tiny balcony you can awkwardly crawl onto—well, Eric could. The master bedroom sits off one hallway with its own small bathroom. Across, two smaller bedrooms and a shared large bathroom line the opposite wall. Out back, there’s even a porch.

Eric’s voice rumbles from the nursery—one of the smaller bedrooms—breathless, determined… and clearly annoyed. Inside, the floor is littered with tiny screws, plastic-wrapped wooden slats, and tools.

Diego is on his back under the half-assembled crib, one socked foot tapping rhythmically against the floor. “If I die under this thing,” he mutters, “tell Val I went out doing something noble.”

Eric snorts, holding one of the long crib rails. His curls are damp, and his long-sleeved shirt clings to his sweaty back, outlining his muscles. The sight reminds me of the way his skin feels when he’s above me, moving with me, into me. Heat flickers up my neck.

“All I’m telling her is you’re no good with your hands,” Eric says. “You missed a step.”

Andrzej is perched on the mahogany dresser, holding the instruction manual with a frown.

“Move your head, dimwit.” He kicks Diego’s foot.

“Why would I move my—ow, shit.” The base of the crib collapses, a washer rolling onto the floor.

“You know you could help, right?” Eric faces Andrzej, fists on his hips.

“No, no.” He puts his hands up defensively. “I like the view.”

Eric flips him off.

“You guys should just let me do it,” I say. “Women are better at assembling furniture. There’s a study⁠—”

Diego cuts in. “Amanda, don’t get me wrong, I’m sure you’re excellent at this, but you could be having a baby, like, tonight. You’re not getting anywhere near this death trap.”

Eric nods.

“Why is it even this fucking complicated?” Diego groans.

“This one grows with the kid. From crib to full-size bed,” Eric explains. “Reduces waste.”

“Yeah,” Andrzej scoffs, “and the human population.” He points at a loose wood slat. “That’s going to hit him in the nuts.”