Something shifted in his face. Almost a smile. "I think it looks like showing up to breakfast tomorrow morning."
"Together."
"Together," he confirmed. "And letting them have their moment."
I thought about Peggy—Wyatt's mother, warm and sharp and not a woman who missed much. I thought about Gage, who had been raising an eyebrow at me across breakfast tables for months. Millie, who was going to be insufferably delighted. Dakota, who already knew everything and was probably already gloating somewhere.
"They're going to be so smug," I said.
"Every single one of them," he agreed.
"Gage is going to look at you like—" I did my best impression of Gage's flat, knowing stare.
Wyatt looked pained. "I know exactly what face he's going to make."
"And your mom?—"
"Let's not talk about my mom right now."
I laughed. Actually laughed, for the first time all day, and it came out more relieved than funny. Wyatt watched me do it with that expression he got sometimes—the one he didn't know he was making, the one that looked a lot like a man who couldn't believe his luck.
"What about vet school?" he said, when I'd settled.
"What about it?"
"You're not quitting."
I looked at him. "I wasn't planning to."
"I know you weren't. I'm just—" He set his fork down. "I want to say it out loud. You finish school. Whatever we need to do to make that work, we do it. That's not negotiable."
I looked at him across the table.
This man. This infuriating, careful, deliberate man who had spent all morning telling me what my life should look like and was now sitting across from me making sure I knew my own future was still mine.
"Okay," I said softly.
"Okay," he said.
We ate.
The puppies made small sounds from the living room. Outside the Hill Country dark pressed warm against the windows and somewhere a whippoorwill started up, the way they did in April, and it was so quiet and so ordinary that I had to remind myself that this morning I'd been sitting on the edge of a bathtub watching a pregnancy test turn positive in about four seconds flat.
"Wyatt," I said.
"Mm."
"I'm glad it was you."
He looked up.
"The baby," I said. "I'm glad it's yours." I held his gaze. "I'm glad it's us."
He was quiet for a long moment.
Then he reached across the table and covered my hand with his.
"Yeah," he said. "Me too."
