It’s all too good to be true, right?
I swallow the emotion clawing up my throat, taking a deep breath as I try and steady my shaking hands.
“I’m pregnant.”
His expression morphs from irritation to confusion, and then?—
He grabs me and pulls me into his body, wrapping his arms around me. “I fucking knew it.” He’s so… warm. Constantly. He’s like a solid, hot mass of emotional tranquility, and I have no idea what I’ve done to deserve him. That thought makes me choke out a sob, and then he’s pulling away and staring into my eyes.
“Talk to me, Frankie. How are you feeling about it?”
God—he’s so—so?—
“I think I love you,” I whisper as tears track down my face. “It hit me just now—with you worried about me being gone, and your stupid, stained shirt,” I say between tears. His stricken face only makes me cry harder. “You’re such a fucking psycho, but I must be one too because I think everything you do is incredibly—r-romantic, and the emails—you—you always emailed me first thing in the morning, like I was your first thought of the d-day?—”
He reaches out and tracks a thumb across my cheek, smiling. “Because you were. Still are.”
I laugh-cry and collapse back into his arms. “We still haven’t talked about how you b-booked all the rooms so we had to share one,” I hiccup. “Fucking psycho behavior.”
“We still haven’t talked about how you pretended to be asleep,” he murmurs. There’s no ire in his voice—no ice or coldness. Just amusement.
“Touché.”
“Come on. You haven’t eaten lunch. I made you a sandwich, but you can’t have that now.”
I pull out of his grip. “What? Why?”
His lips twitch. “You shouldn’t eat deli meat when you’re pregnant.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“I’ve been reading.”
My mouth drops open before I snap it closed. “You’ve beenreading?!”
Putting his hands in the pockets of his pants, he rocks back on his heels and gives me a conspiratorial smile.
“Casual reading. No big deal.”
A surprise laugh escapes my lips. “Let me see the book.”
He takes a step backward. “It’s in the bedroom.”
Taking a step forward, I cross my arms. “Show me.”
He turns and walks into the house. I follow him until he stops at his bedside table, pulling one of the drawers out and producing a thick medical textbook about pregnancy.
“How long have you had that?” I ask, trying not to smile.
“Since San Francisco. There are certain studies that have been done on very early pregnancy and I wanted to be informed?—”
I jump into his arms and the book falls onto the floor. He catches my thighs and moans when I press my lips against his,when I run my fingers through his soft hair, when I take my hands and place them on either side of his scruff.
“Don’t think we’re not going to talk about the way you said you loved me,” he murmurs.
“Whatever,” I rasp, rolling my hips when I feel his erection push through his pants and my leggings.
“You said it first,” he adds, a victorious smile brushing against my lips. “I’m never going to let you live that down.”
