Without a word, he pulls my feet into his lap and starts working his thumbs into my arches. His hands should be illegal—those strong, calloused fingers finding every aching spot with devastating precision.
"You don't have to do that," I say, even as I sink deeper into the seat and let my head fall back against the window.
"I know," he replies simply.
We sit there in the parking lot, the party continuing without us, as my tattooed, beanie-wearing husband massages my sausage feet with a gentleness that still surprises me. This is the same guy who once got so mad at my keynote speech at the Northwest Craft Alliance that he "accidentally" knocked over my presentation notes right before I went on stage. The same guy who now carries pregnancy-safe snacks in his truck because I might get hungry at random times.
The universe has a weird sense of humor.
"Ready to go home?" he asks after a few minutes.
"Yeah," I say, reluctantly putting my flats back on. "Let's go home."
The drive is short, but I still manage to fall asleep. When we pull into the driveway, I blink awake to find Kasen watching me with an expression that still makes those grasshoppers jump around in my stomach.
"What?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious. "Do I have drool on my face?"
"No." He brushes a strand of pink hair back. "Just wondering how I got so lucky."
"Ugh, stop." I wrinkle my nose but can't fight the smile tugging at my lips. "You're getting sappy in your old age, James."
"And you're getting soft," he counters. "Never thought I'd see the day when Wren Callan let someone take care of her."
"I'm not soft," I protest. "I'm strategically conserving energy. Big difference."
Inside, I make a beeline for the couch, collapsing onto it with zero grace. Summit responds with a series of kicks that make my belly visibly ripple through my dress.
"Someone's active tonight," Kasen says, kneeling beside me. His face lights up when he feels the movement. "Hey, buddy. You partying in there?"
"I swear he knows your voice," I say, watching Kasen's expression soften as he talks to our son. "He always gets more active when you speak."
"Smart kid." Kasen looks so proud that it catches me off guard, and then he glances up at me with every ounce of love he feels for Summit and me unguarded right there on his face. I never knew I could feel like this before him. "Takes after his mom."
"Flattery will get you everywhere."
"I'm counting on it." His hand slides up to cup my breast, his thumb brushing over my nipple, which is approximately a thousand times more sensitive than it used to be. "These still sore?"
The seemingly innocent question sends a jolt of heat straight between my legs. "Maybe a little," I admit. "Why do you ask?"
His eyes darken. "Just making sure you're comfortable."
"I'd be more comfortable without this dress on."
"That can be arranged." He stands, offering me his hands. "Upstairs?"
"God, yes." I let him pull me to my feet. "But only if you carry me. My ankles won't survive the stairs."
Without hesitation, he scoops me up in his arms, cradling me against his chest like I weigh nothing instead of being about a thousand pounds because of his giant baby. It's a testament to how strong he is, and to how much shit's changed between us, that I'm actually letting him do this without fighting him.
In our bedroom he sets me on the edge of the bed with a gentleness that's kind of shocking coming from a guy with arms like his. It's like watching a grizzly bear handle a teacup.
"Arms up," he commands softly, and I comply, letting him pull the dress over my head. His sharp intake of breath as he takes in my lace-covered breasts sends a flash of satisfaction through me.
"When did you get this?" His fingers trace the edge of my black maternity bra, the only sexy underwear I could find that doesn't look like something my grandma would wear.
"Last week." I arch into his touch. "Thought you might appreciate something that isn't beige and ugly as hell."
"I appreciate everything you wear," he says, his voice dropping to that gravelly register that makes me shiver. "And everything you don't wear."
