"They’re made with driftwood from the beach." The craftsman ran his hand over the sea creatures. "Each piece is different. I only made it last week."
I reached out and trailed a finger along the curve of the whale. The wood was silky smooth and warm from the sun coming through the glass.
"For the nursery?" Renard appeared at my shoulder.
"Can you imagine it over the crib? The baby could watch it while they were falling asleep."
"We'll take it." Renard reached for his phone. "It's perfect for the nursery.”
That afternoon we lay on the beach under a rented umbrella. My back was grateful for the rest. Renard was on his side facing me with his hand on my hip. And the waves coming in and out were almost hypnotic.
"We should do this every year." He nuzzled my shoulder. "Or somewhere new. Just the three of us." He paused. "Then maybe four, someday, if you want."
I looked at him. "You want more kids?"
"Maybe if you do."
Doing this again with the questions, worry, excitement and me not seeing my feet seemed impossible from where I currently was. But the thought of a sibling for our baby, of a bigger table, of more noise at Christmas gave me the warm fuzzies so I wasn’t ruling it out.
"Ask me again in a couple of years." I puckered my lips and he kissed me.
He laughed. "Fair enough."
That night we ate on the private patio while the stars came out over the water, and after, we lay in bed with the patio doors open and the curtains moving in the breeze. The sound of the ocean formed a backdrop to the evening.
"I don't want this to end."
"It won't." He rolled toward me, careful of my belly. "We'll always have each other."
The baby kicked as if they were agreeing with Renard and he placed a hand on my bump as our little one jiggled. But when the baby quieted, my mate kissed me and his hand came up to cup my jaw. Neither of us was in any hurry to sleep.
SIXTEEN
RENARD
The first period had been solid.
It wasn’t my best hockey. I’d let a soft one in off a redirected shot with four minutes left that I should have tracked better. But I was locked in and reading the play well. I’d made two saves in the opening minutes that had the crowd excited, including a breakaway where I'd read the deke and got my pad across in time. We were up 2-1 against The Carvers going into the second and I felt good about where we were.
I was in my stance, tracking the puck behind the Carvers' net, when something pulled my attention to the family section.
Julian was standing up. He had both hands on his belly and the man beside him was on his feet too. The guy’s wide-eyed expression alarmed me. But I couldn’t just skate off. Play was live and a goalie didn’t leave the crease mid-shift. I’d have to wait for a whistle. Every second dragged like an hour.Come on, come on. Ice it, shoot it wide or give me something to catch.
The Carvers dumped it into our zone and one of our defensemen swept it behind the net and held it against the boards. There was the whistle and I was moving before the referee’s arm came down.
Coach looked confused when I skated to the bench. He followed my gaze to the family section, to Julian being helped toward the exit aisle, and he must have registered what was happening.
"Go. Raul's ready."
I got out of the pads, skates, and chest protector as fast as I ever had—faster than I could believe—and pulled on sweats and shoes. My phone was buzzing in my stall. I grabbed it along with my keys and ran.
Julian was in the corridor outside the family section, bent forward with one hand braced against the wall. The man from the stands had his arm around him and looked relieved to see me.
"Renard." Julian's face was pale and there was sweat on his forehead. "The baby's coming."
"How far apart are the contractions?"
"Five minutes. Maybe less now."
