“We’re having a daughter.”
“We are,” she says, her voice trembling. “Are you happy?”
“Definitely. Are you?” I hold her chin, my thumb gently stroking along her jawline.
“Yes.”
I press more kisses to her damp cheeks, her forehead, and then her lips once more. “Come on, let’s go home.”
Outside, we walk slowly to my car, Sage still holding the ultrasound photos in her hand. We come to a stop beside the passenger side door, and she stares down at the black-and-white images.
“She’s really in there.”
“Half me, half you, totally perfect.”
“Don’t make me cry any more than I already have,” Sage says with a half laugh, half sob, swiping at her cheeks.
“Am I meant to apologize for saying what I mean?” I say with a grin, and as I hoped, she laughs—with no crying this time. Then, lifting up on her toes, Sage kisses me.
“I guess we better start thinking of baby names.”
I wait until we’re both in the car before I answer. “What about Emma?”
Sage shakes her head as I start to drive away. “No, too cutesy. Our girl is gonna be tough and strong.”
“Okay, what about Harley?”
“We are not naming our daughter after a motorcycle!”
“Hey, you said you wanted tough,” I tease.
Sage falls silent for a second, and when I glance over at her, she’s touching her shoulder where her tattoo is.
“What about Ivy? It was my mom’s name,” she says quietly.
“Ivy. I like that.” I stretch my arm out so I can cover her hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry your mom’s not here.”
Rolling her head to the side so she’s facing me, Sage nuzzles my hand with her cheek. “Our girl might never meet her grandparents, but she’ll be loved enough to make up for it.”
“Yes, she will be.” I take her hand and bring it to my lips to press a kiss to the back. “I know neither one of us ever expected something like this to happen, but this is the best surprise to ever happen to me.”
23
SAGE
I can’t rememberthe last time I lived with someone. No wait, I can. University, in the shared dorm rooms. But as soon as I could swing it, I moved into a single student room. Once I graduated, I was on the move so often, short-term studio rentals were the norm.
That makes it more than six years since my life co-mingled with someone else’s. Since my shoes were lined up next to much-larger pairs, and my dishes sat alongside others. The bag I take to work leans next to his baseball gear bag by the front door. A domestic collision, of sorts.
It’s overwhelming at times, if I’m being honest. I’m trying to ignore those feelings and focus on the good. But it’s only been a few days since Brady came into my bedroom and forced me to admit my feelings.
Maybeforcedis the wrong word, that implies I did it against my will, and I didn’t. I’m happy we finally got things out in the open. I’m happy we’re giving it a try, being in a real relationship.
And while Brady made it clear we could move as slow as I wanted us to, that hasn’t exactly been reality. No, our reality is the opposite of a couple in the early stages of a relationship, given we’re already sharing a space and having a baby together.
Still, there’s a part of me that’s desperate to pump the brakes, to slow down and give ourselves a chance to adjust.
Which is why, when he woke up this morning and announced his intentions to get things organized around here, I had to stuff down the nerves that had me panicking over what he meant by that.
