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That evening, when Aster returned home from work harried and exhausted, Molly handed him a hot chocolate in her dinosaur mug, reborn in red and dubbed Reginald II. He eyed her with suspicion as she approached, only relaxing once he’d peered inside.

“For a second, I thought you were bringing me a coffee, and I’m too tired to make my own right now. Trying to do anything else might kill me. I’m so glad we decided to celebrate our anniversary last weekend.”

“You’re cut off from caffeine today, remember? And why on earth would you have to make your own if I already brought you one?” She perched beside him on their beloved blue sofa and ran her hands through his messy hair, brushing it back into something resembling his usual style. It caught her in moments like this, when Aster seemed his most human, just how distractingly handsome she found him, just how much she could love him.

He leaned into her touch before reaching up to capture her hands, dropping a kiss to her knuckles. “There’s a reason I make the coffee, Mols.” Another kiss as if to soften the blow of his words. “Yours is terrible.”

“It is not.” She couldn’t decide if the fiery feeling in her chest came more from indignation or amusement.

A familiar smile flashed across his face, one she didn’t see as often as she once had. It was a smile that said they’d had this conversation before. He began playing with the end of her braid, twisting it around his fingers, and effectively distracting her from more protests about the quality of her brewing technique.

She had something else to discuss with him anyway, the revelation that had been simmering beneath her skin all afternoon.

She swallowed, gathering her courage. “There was a small change at my appointment today.”

Aster twisted to fully face her, seeking questions with wide, beautiful, hope-drenched eyes. “A good change? In your scans?”

All his lovely hope shuttered when she shook her head.

“A bad change?” he asked, voice clearly strained as he set his mug down.

She shook her head.

“Then . . . what?”

“It was a . . . different change,” she said. He squeezed her hands when she continued. “Just, normal questions nurses ask at the beginning of a visit.”

“Questions like?”

“It’s been so hectic lately. And I said I didn’t want to track things this time because the thought of it made me so nervous. I know we’ve been—well, I still hadn’t thought much of it because stress can—and so—”

“Mols,” Aster interrupted. He pulled her hands into his again, drawing gentle circles against her skin. “Maybe try finishing one thought at a time?”

One thing at a time. She could do one thing at a time. She had plenty of practice with that.

She drew in a shaky breath. “I should have gotten my period last week.”

Aster dropped her hands; limp, they landed on Molly’s knees.

“I took a test when I got home.” She paused. A beat, a breath. Then, “I’m pregnant.”

He kissed her, so hard and so fast that she barely had time to register his weight as he practically crawled into her lap, pressing her against the cushions. His joy was overwhelming, infecting her uncertainty and transforming it into something light.

“Oh my God,” he said against her lips, one hand cradling her face. After a breath, seriousness slid over his features. “Are you okay?”

Barely capable of dislodging the small boulder at the base of her throat, she said, “I’m scared.”

He surged, kissing her again. “Me too,” he said. “Me too. Fuck, I love you so much.”

“It’ll be okay,” Molly said. Needing it, believing it. “We’re going to be okay.”

Aster smiled, and it burned bright like a star in her chest.

“There’s no way Justine will know,” Molly said in whisper. Roy and Alannah were wrangling their kids in the next room, giving Molly her first opportunity to continue this particular debate with Aster since their arrival.

“She’ll know,” he said.

“She won’t.”