I make a pit stop on the drive for Harp’s current craving of choice—a certain brand of pretzels and a jar of peanut butter, both of which are easy to grab from the grocery store.
Then I’m pulling into the garage in our new house (because neither of us were taking any chances with my parents…and because Harper being on the mortgage was important to both of us). I park next to her car, making sure to leave enough room for her to fully open her door and maneuver her belly in and out.
I grab the bag of pretzels, the jar of crunchy peanut butter, and head inside.
One sniff and…
“Fuck, I love you.”
Harper looks up from the plate of warm oatmeal raisin cookies and smiles at me.
“That’s your stomach talking,” she teases.
I set her stuff down, round the island, and loop my arm around her middle, drawing her back against me. “That’s me talking.”
She smiles, tilts her head back to kiss my jaw. “You played great tonight, handsome.”
God, I love when she calls me that.
“I’m just glad you got to see a good one.”
“Me too.” She picks up a cookie and holds it so I can take a bite.
As I chew, I look around the home we’ve made. There are photos of us and our family, framed ultrasound pictures on the walls. Harper’s mixer sits on the counter, a Grizzlies hat is perched on the back of a chair. Christmas-themed towels hang from the oven and a cheerful centerpiece has a place of honor on the island.
Just a couple of weeks ago, the guys helped me haul in a huge tree and even though I offered to order in some pizzas as thanks, Harper had insisted on cooking.
But everyone had insisted on chipping in with side dishes, so Harp made a roast and we sat around eating and listening to Christmas carols and playing games.
(Harp still whooped my ass in MarioKart.)
It was fucking great—for all of us.
The start of a tradition. Of a future I never even entertained.
And one I know I’m so damned lucky to have.
One I’ll never take for granted.
Harp yawns and leans back more heavily against me.
I snag another cookie, bend down to press my lips to her throat. “Let’s go to bed, Mama.”
“Sounds good. I’ll go wash my face and put on my pajamas.” I kiss her neck again before she pulls away to grin up at me. “Will you bring the pretzels?”
I tap her nose. “And the peanut butter.”
Her face goes soft. “Thanks, handsome.”
She heads for the stairs then freezes, her lips parting on a surprised breath, her hand clamping around her middle.
I’m next to her in an instant. “Harp? Baby?”
She doesn’t respond for what seems like an eternity but is likely only a heartbeat.
Then she looks down.
My gaze follows hers and my heart seizes.
