“You’ll come?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
This kiss isn’t careful.
It’s deep and slow and full of promise, his hand sliding to my hip, thumb pressing into me through layers of fabric.
My breath stutters. My heart kicks hard against my ribs.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine for a beat. Then he’s gone, coat missing from my lap, presence still wrapped around me.
By the time I reach the flower shop, my heart is racing.
It was a near-perfect heat cycle. The words sit in my head like something sacred.
Not painless. Not simple. But cared for. Supported. Wanted by men who didn’t try to own me or fix me or make me smaller.
I step inside.
And immediately stop.
Wren and Beau are kissing behind the counter.
Not a polite peck. Not a shy brush of lips. This is full on, hands tangled, bodies angled together like they forgot the rest of the world existed.
I clear my throat.
Wren shrieks.
It’s loud. High-pitched. She wobbles, hands flying to her belly as she stumbles toward me, eyes wide with panic and then relief when she realizes it’s just me.
“Holy shit,” she gasps. “Norah.”
Her stomach is so much bigger now. Round and proud and impossible to miss. I laugh as she barrels into me, hugging me tight.
“Hey,” I say, squeezing back.
“Hey, babe,” she breathes, voice thick with emotion.
Beau lifts a hand in an awkward little wave. “Hey. You good?”
I nod. “Yeah. I’m good.”
“I’ll grab cocoa,” he says immediately, already heading out. “Extra marshmallows.”
The second he’s gone, Wren and I scream. Just pure, unfiltered excitement. She claps a hand over her mouth. “I can’t believe you caught us.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t lock the door,” I shoot back, laughing so hard my sides ache.
She grabs my hands. “Okay. How are you?”
I grin. “Great.”
Her eyes narrow. “Great, how?”
“Fucking fantastic.”
We dissolve into giggles, collapsing onto the stools behind the counter like teenagers with secrets.
