The quiet stretched comfortably between us.
Eventually he lay back, pulling me with him until my head rested against his chest.
His hand drifted instinctively to my stomach.
The baby kicked almost on cue.
He froze.
Then whispered, “Yeah, that’s my kid.”
I laughed softly.
“Possessive already?”
“Damn right.”
“See? This proves it’s a boy. Only boys are this cocky in the womb.”
I rolled my eyes. “She’s just strong-willed. Like me.”
He looked at me then. Really looked.
“I like that,” he said quietly.
My heart tripped.
We fell asleep like that, tangled together, my cheek against his heartbeat, his hand covering our baby like he was guarding something sacred.
It was the most peaceful nap I’d had in years.
Evening came. Dinner was quieter. Everyone tired from the week. After plates were cleared, Cal took my hand.
“Walk?”
We went to the beach. Same stretch. Moon higher tonight. Stars sharper.
We sat in the sand. He pulled me between his legs like last night. Arms around me. Chin on my shoulder.
We talked about nothing. The waves. Eli’s Lego obsession. Kylie’s fear of crabs. Malcolm’s terrible jokes.
Then silence.
He reached into his pocket. Pulled out a small velvet box.
My stomach dropped.
He opened it.
Not the cheap Vegas ring.
A thin gold band. Twenty-karat blue diamond solitaire. Simple. Stunning.
“I want to try,” he said. Voice rough. “For real. In real life. Not just here. Not just because of the baby.”
I stared at the ring.
“I’m not perfect,” he continued. “I’ll fuck up. I’m still learning how to feel again. How to say things. But I want this. Us. I want to make it real.”
