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For once in his life, Ryder Hale has absolutely nothing to say.
“Ryder?”
His eyes lift to mine. “Are you serious?”
I nod.
“We’re having another baby?”
“We’re having another baby.”
His entire face changes.
Then he grabs me. “Can I squeeze you?”
I laugh. “Yes.”
“Is that safe?”
“Yes, Ryder.”
He pulls me against him. His face goes into my neck. “Boy this time.”
“You don’t get to order one.”
“Worked with you.”
I pull back. “You did not order me.”
“Pretty sure I paid twenty grand.”
“I paid twenty grand.”
“Right.”
He kisses me again. Softer this time.
His hand moves to my stomach.
There’s nothing to feel yet but that doesn’t stop him.
“You happy?” I ask.
He looks at me like I’ve asked the dumbest question of my life. “Baby.”
“I know. Stupid question.”
“Very.”
I smile.
Outside, his motorcycle is parked beside my Subaru.
At home, the 1948 Indian sits in the garage beside Rosie’s tiny helmet.
Our farmhouse has books in every room, motorcycles in the garage, toys on the porch, and a four-year-old who swears when her blocks fall over.
Soon there will be another crib upstairs.
