by Staci Hart
“Well, wouldn’t anyone? Mine nearly fainted every time, even with the planned ones.” I must have had a look on my face because she added, “I have three. The first and last were a surprise. I swear to God, the man could get me knocked up on sight.”
“Is it always this scary?”
“Not as scary as that first time. But none are as magical either. And I promise, you’ll feel better once you tell him.”
“Lily said that, too. I don’t think I’ve been so nervous in my whole life.”
“It’s the first step in a journey that will change everything you know about life and yourself and relationships. It’s okay to be scared. Just know that, when the time comes, you’ll know exactly what to do.”
The words brought me more comfort than she could possibly know. Or maybe she did.
A little while later, I was out in the sunshine with two bags in hand, a smile on my face, and my mind turned to where the hell I was going to hide the bags. If he found them and asked, I’d just say they were for Hazel. Easy.
I just wondered if I could get away with lying to him. The answer, I knew, was never in a million years. So, after hailing a cab—the excitement of a walk through the park had been used up in the baby store—and finding my way to our apartment, I headed straight to our closet. In the back where my winter coats hung, there was a shelf, its contents easily hidden. But before I nestled the shopping bags in their hiding spot, I found those little booties again and set them in the palm of my hand like proud little sentinels, determined and sweet and filled with the promise of love.
7
Hold Out
Cooper
Things were going exactly as planned.
I smiled out the window as we drove up Madison during rush hour, anxious to be home, eager to have Maggie in my arms, and ready for the weekend.
For years, I’d been planning, waiting patiently for the right time. After everything that had happened to her with her ex, I didn’t want to rush, didn’t want to push her into something she wasn’t ready for. I’d promised her, one day, I’d ask her the question with the ring, and now it was time to make good on my word.
The custom Harry Winston had been sitting in my safe for months, long enough for me to plan this weekend, to find the time off work, to wait for the summer when it would be warm. I’d scanned the coast and chosen the cove I’d take her to tomorrow night where we’d anchor and eat dinner on the deck as the sun set.
That was the moment I’d ask her to marry me.
Forever.
It didn’t seem like long enough. I’d woken every morning next to her for years and never ceased to be amazed by the depth of her eyes or the curve at the very corners of her lips, as if she were always smiling, even in sleep. I’d memorized the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose like a captain knew the stars. No matter how hard my day was, no matter how stressful things were at work, when I walked through the door, it was with a sigh of relief.
When she was in my arms, everything outside our walls faded away, ceased to exist.
Nerves twisted around my guts, sharp with anticipation. I’d done everything I could to orchestrate the perfect time, the perfect moment. The perfect ring for the perfect girl. I only hoped I could pull it off. And I hoped she was ready. I’d been ready for years. Since the very beginning.
My driver dropped me at the entrance of the building, and I hurried inside with my smile still in place. Within minutes, I was unlocking the door, my eyes scanning for her the second I crossed the threshold.
She stood in the kitchen, wearing one of my favorite sundresses, and when she looked over her shoulder and saw me, her face lit like a sunrise.
I didn’t speak. In three steps, she was in my arms.
Our lips were a seam, transmitting all the things we hadn’t said. I missed you. I love you, the way you feel against me, the way you smell, the way you make me feel. The way I want you and the way I need you. I love you, I love you, I love you.
For a long moment, we breathed each other in like we’d been underwater since we parted that morning.
She broke the kiss and leaned back, her eyes hooded and smiling lips swollen. “Well, hello to you, too.”
A laugh rumbled low in my throat. I kissed her nose.
“How was your day?”
“Fine,” she said in a way that made me certain it wasn’t fine at all.
I jerked my chin toward the living room. “Doing a little cleaning?” I’d noted on scanning for her that she’d rearranged the shelves and moved everything around in the living room.
She flushed. “What do you mean?”
I gave her a look. “My chessboard is on top of the bookshelf.”
“Well, it’s a choking hazard! The baby could choke,” she said with defensiveness I’d been unprepared for. Guilt sparked behind her eyes.
“What baby?” I asked, my brows drawing together.
“Lily’s. Lily’s baby.”
I chuckled. “Hazel can’t see six inches in front of her, and if you set her down, she’ll stay exactly where you put her. How’s she going to choke on my rook?”
“Well, I don’t want to find out. Do you?” She turned to the cutting board and picked up the knife she’d been chopping chives with. “I went by there today to see the baby.”
I stiffened. West knew about my big plans for the weekend—he’d even facilitated the conversation I’d had with her father when I garnered his blessing. The problem was, West couldn’t keep a secret to save his life.
“How’s the baby?” I asked, hoping I could hedge anything he’d said. God knew he’d said something, the blabbermouth.
The color rose in her cheeks, her smile sweet and dreamy. “Oh, she’s just so sweet, Coop. She never cries, just sleeps and coos and yawns. She’s such a tiny little thing. She almost fits in the palm of West’s hand.”
The wonder in her voice warmed me up from the middle out, and I felt us both imagining a baby of our own. I imagined her holding a tiny little thing with her big blue eyes and golden hair. Would it be a boy or a girl? Didn’t matter any to me, so long as it was just like her.
I stepped behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist. My chin rested on her crown, my hands on the flat of her stomach. But I didn’t mention my hopes for the future.
First things first.
“You ready for this weekend?”
“Mmhmm,” she hummed, leaning back against me. She didn’t say anything more.
I couldn’t help but frown at her lack of enthusiasm. “Weather’s supposed to be great. I thought we could stop and anchor before we get to the Hamptons.”
“Sounds good.” The knife clicked on the worn wood.
My frown deepened. “Everything okay?”
A sigh, a deep sound, heavy with something she wasn’t telling me. “Everything’s fine.” Her voice was happy but tight around the edges.
“That was convincing.”
She set down her knife and turned around in my arms. “Everything’s fine, I promise. I’m just tired.”
“Want me to cook dinner?” I asked.
Maggie smiled. Her arms wound around my neck as best they could, given her height. “If you want. I’m not really hungry.”
I hummed, leaning down for an easy kiss. “Well, I don’t want you to cook just for me.”
I bent down a little more and swept her up in my arms. She chirped in surprise, her arms squeezing my neck to hang on. She didn’t need to. I had her, and I wasn’t likely to let her go.
“My girl is tired and not hungry,” I said, moving toward our bedroom. “Sounds like we should spend the rest of the night in bed.”
She laughed. “What about you? Aren’t you hungry?”
I smirked. “Oh, I am. But not for anything in the kitchen.”
She would have laughed if I hadn’t kissed her first.
I laid her down in bed and climbed in after her, keeping my lips on hers where they wanted to be. I stretched out next to her with her small
body tucked against mine, kissing her without demand, just absolute contentment in the feeling of her small face in my palm, the tip of her nose brushing against the side of mine, her soft, humid breath against my cheek. I could have kissed her like that forever. If tomorrow went well, I would.
She broke away, settling back into the bed. I propped my head on one hand, tracing the curve of her cheeks and the shape of her chin with the other. Our legs tangled together.
“You didn’t tell me how your day was,” she said.
“Tragically boring. The best part of my day was coming home to you. Always is.”
Her cheeks flushed prettily. I thumbed the heat of her freckled skin.
“I’ve been looking forward to this weekend forever,” I said softly, knowing she wouldn’t know what I really meant. I wished I could say more. I wished I could ask her the question right then, like I almost had a thousand times.
The perfect moment awaits. You’ve held off this long. Be patient for twenty-four more hours.
“It’ll be fun,” she said, this time meaning it. “It’s been too long since we’ve gone sailing. I hate being busy.”
“Me too.”
She reached for my tie, busying her hands and eyes. “Tell me the story again.”
“Which one?” I asked.
The whisper of silk filled the silence. “About our future.”
One side of my lips rose. My hand found her hip. “Well, one day, I’ll whisk you away to a beautiful place, the perfect place, and I’m going to get down on one knee and ask you to love me forever.”
“I’ll already love you forever,” she said, as she always did.
My smile widened. “Well, I’ll make you promise.” I said, as I always did.
She chuckled.
“And you’ll say yes—I hope, at least—with your face shining and surprise in your eyes even though I’ve told you this story a hundred times.”
“Two hundred at least.”
“And then you’ll kiss me, and I’ll put the ring on your finger where it’ll stay forever.” Forever. I went on, “We’ll get married wherever you want—New York, Jackson, Fiji. I don’t care where, so long as you’re there in a white dress with the words I do on your lips.”
That earned me a smile. Her eyes met mine like the brush of a feather before shifting back to her hands. Her fingers worked the top buttons of my shirt.
“Then, we’ll travel every chance we get. I want to see you in every hidden corner of the world. I figure, between your job and mine, it’ll take three or four years to hit all the places left on our list. And when we’re ready, we’ll settle down and start a family.”
Something passed across her face, gone before I could place it. “Why haven’t you asked me yet, Coop?” The question was gentle, quiet, without accusation.
I swallowed to force my tight throat open and said slowly, gently, “Because I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment.”
“But what if there is no perfect moment? What if there’s no right time or being ready?”
Something in her voice struck me. I reached for her face and tipped it so she’d meet my eyes. “What’s the matter, Mags?”
Her eyes shone with tears, and she shook her head. “I just love you.”
“I love you, too,” I said, the words drawn from deep in my chest. “Maggie, I—”
“Kiss me,” she said.
And I obliged. Soon, she wouldn’t have a single question, a single doubt in her mind. Tomorrow, she’d know.
8
Punsies
Maggie
“I have two whole hours and iron-on letters. Somebody, stop me,” Lily said with a wide smile on her face. She brushed past me and into the apartment with canvas shopping bags on each arm and Rose in her wake, saddled with a couple of her own.
Rose gave me a smile that could have been considered apologetic.
Lily headed into the kitchen and began unloading her haul. “How are you feeling, Mags?”
I grabbed a bag and began to unpack it. “Like I could sleep for a week and never eat again.”
“Ah, you need the beige diet,” she said with authority.
Rose and I exchanged a curious look.
“The what?” I asked.
“The best way to combat morning sickness—otherwise known as the longest six weeks of your life—is by strictly eating beige food. Pasta. Bread. French fries, hash browns, oatmeal, if you can handle the mush. Applesauce. Chicken nuggets are close enough, but don’t try dipping them in anything unless you want gastrointestinal pyrotechnics. And crackers. Put them everywhere. In every bag you own, in every room of the house.”
“I feel like I should be taking notes.”
She sighed, as if it had all happened to her in another lifetime. “There’s so much I wish I’d known. Like that nursing a baby meant my nipples couldn’t withstand the shower stream for weeks. Or that my vagina and asshole would become one.”
Rose snorted. “You’re disgusting.”
Lily shrugged. “Just wait until you poop a little while you’re pushing in front of a room full of people. People who happen to all be staring at a small human exiting your sacred valley.” She shook her head. “I had never known humility until becoming a parent. I have been covered in bodily fluids more times in the last two weeks than the sum of my entire life.”
Rose glanced at her and fingered the sleeve of her kimono. “Is this baby puke?”
She wrenched her neck around to see the offending stain. “Probably. But what do I care? I’m out of the house for two whole hours, and I’m wearing a real bra and pants with a zipper.”
Rose’s eyebrow climbed.
“Okay, I’m wearing maternity pants, but they’re denim, and that’s a big deal. Give me this one thing, Rose!”
She lifted her hands in surrender. “Fine, fine.”
Lily turned back to me, and her bottom lip slipped between her teeth. “I’m overwhelming you, aren’t I? I am. I’m sorry.”
“No,” I assured her. “It’s really …” I sighed. “I mean, a little, but it’s okay.”
“Did you tell him yet?” Rose asked cautiously.
Another sigh, this one heavy. “No. Lily said to wait until this weekend. I’ve been racking my brain for a brilliant way to tell him, but I’ve got nothin’.”
“Well,” Lily started, assessing the pile of craft supplies on the table, “you’ll be on the boat and in the Hamptons. Something with the ocean?”
I laughed. “I thought about, Holy ship, we’re having a baby!”
Lily lit up. “Or a little onesie with picture of a lobster that says, Oh, snap!”
“I would have told you schooner, but I was turtley busy,” Rose said.
“Sorry if I’m crabby. It’s the seaman’s fault.”
Rose howled. “Oh my God. Seaman.”
“Nauti, nauti seaman.” Lily leered. “Dropping anchor in the lady cave.”
“Oh, the indecenSEA.”
Our laughter died down, and I sighed. “I don’t know. I think I’ve just got to come out with it. Everything pales next to what he’d do.”
“Well, it’s not like you have the connections to get the New York Symphony to parade through Central Park with a We’re Having a Baby banner,” Rose said.
I sighed. I’d done a lot of that the last twenty-four hours.
“No more of that,” Lily said. “I swear, you’ll feel so much better once you tell him. The worst part is not knowing what he thinks. All you can do is assume. And you know what they say; that makes an ass out of u and me.”
Rose rolled her eyes, chuckling again.
“What? Sun’s out, puns out.”
Rose turned to me. “I don’t know much about colorless diets or nipple cream, but I do know relationships. And here’s the truth—everything is going to be fine. Lily’s right. The waiting is the hardest part. As for how you’ll tell him … well, that’s what we’re here for.”
“I just hope I can pull it off. If I’ve learned
anything, it’s that life never turns out according to plan. It’s the universe’s joke on us,” I said. “Cooper said last night he didn’t want to have kids for years after we get married, which he hasn’t even asked me to do. I just hope he’s ready.”
Something passed between them, but Rose spoke before I could comment on it.
“Well, do you feel ready?” Rose asked.
“Not at all,” I said on a laugh.
“But you want to do it anyway,” Lily added.
“I do. I really do.” The answer required no thought.
“Then it stands to reason that Cooper will feel the same way. When’s he home?”
I checked the clock. “In a couple of hours or so. I still need to pack. I was supposed to get up when he left this morning, but I slept for two full hours. I swear, I could curl up and sleep some more.”
“Who knew growing a person was so much work?” Rose said, smiling.
“Okay,” Lily said, sorting through Craft Mountain, “we’ve got some of the baby’s onesies she’s never worn, iron-on letters, fabric paint, and a load of puns. Are we ready?”
“Shell yeah,” Rose crowed.
“Yeah, bouy!” I cheered.
And we rolled up our proverbial sleeves and got to work.
An hour later, we had four punsies—as we’d come to call them—two iron burns, one pricked finger, and three sore throats from laughing to show for our hard work. We were packing Lily’s supplies up when she cringed, her face twisting up in pain.
She pressed a hand to one breast. “Ow, ooh, ah!” She hissed between her teeth. “Baby needs to eat. My milk just dropped like a sick-ass beat.”
“Sounds like a really bad rap song,” Rose said.
She leaned, folding her arms across her chest with all the attitude of Salt-N-Pepa. “Word to the motha. Who is me. And now you, homie.”
“Don’t quit your day job,” I said as I stepped into her for a hug.
She wrapped her arms around me and hugged me so thoroughly, I was on the edge of tears again.
“Don’t worry, Mags,” she said gently, swaying me just a little. “We’re here for you. Go this weekend. Tell him about your zygote and spend the weekend in bed together eating toast. Just so you know, eggs are deceivingly not part of the beige diet.”