Speaking of my incredible, beautiful wife, she rounded the corner from the kitchen, twisting her hands. “I have to tell you something.”
Oh, good. I was wondering when she was going to bring this up.
“I already know.” My grin grew so wide my cheeks hurt.
She cocked her head, brows drawing down. “You do?”
“You’re pregnant.”
Hazel eyes grew comically large, and she stumbled back, placing a hand to her midsection and screeching, “What? No!”
Setting the gift bag on the hall table, I moved closer, only to have her retreat with every step I took. “I’m pretty sure you are. Your period is three days late.”
Head whipping up, she asked, “What day is it?”
“The twenty-seventh,” I supplied.
I watched on in amusement as she counted on her fingers, trying to match up today’s date with when she was supposed to have started her period.
Frowning when she realized I was right, Gemma countered, “I’ve been late a few days here and there before. That doesn’t mean anything.”
Approaching slowly like she was an animal about to spook, I managed to loop my arms around her waist before she could pull away.
“Maybe not. But there have been other signs.”
She raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Like what?”
“Let’s see,” I began. “You’ve been falling asleep in the middle of the day, you’re constantly in the bathroom, and your tits are so sore you haven’t let me touch them all week.”
Her eyes shifted as she absorbed the information before cursing under her breath. “Shit.”
We’d discussed the possibility of children during the months of my recovery, coming to the decision to let it happen when it was meant to. With Gemma now thirty-eight, I knew it might be too late, so I hadn’t let myself get my hopes up.
But this past week, I’d finally allowed excitement to creep in.
It would seem my wife needed a little more time to wrap her mind around the idea. Thankfully, she had the next eight or so months to do so.
I decided to throw her a bone. “We can’t really be sure until you take a test, though.”
Gemma peeked past me toward the door. “But we have to go.”
“We do,” I agreed. “But as much as I love our chosen family, this one here—me, you, and maybe baby—always comes first.”
“Maybe baby,” she huffed. “Can’t believe this is happening.”
She was processing, so I tried my best to tamp down my joy because, right now, I was itching to scream from the rooftops that I was going to be a daddy.
Kissing her forehead, I stepped back to give her some breathing room before pulling out my phone and typing out a quick text.
Something came up, and we’re running behind.
The flashing dots indicated an incoming reply.
Braxton:How far behind? We don’t want to do this without you guys.
Half an hour max. I promise.
Braxton:All right. See you soon.
