But she follows me.
Inspecting the boxes as they come in, she watches me deliver box after box to the storage area of our basement.
“This is so much! A crib? Dresser? Bounce seat? High chair? Wyatt!”
“I’m sorry. Whatever you don’t like, we can return and buy what you want. But I was doing research about everything we’ll need for a baby, and then I went down the rabbit hole of safety features and lists of safest baby equipment, and now, somehow, we’re here.” I shrug.
“Somehow? It’s too much. I haven’t contributed anything!” She throws her hands in the air, exasperated.
“Excuse me. If you forget, you are growing our little bug in there.” I cross my arms over my chest as I remind her she’s doing the most important part.
But before she can respond, she’s out of the garage and bent over a bush. I feel terrible she’s been so sick. She can’t get anything done without being interrupted.
Rubbing her back, I offer her a towel from the stack that I keep in here to wipe down the gym equipment and clean the sweat off my face. “When can we go to the doctor? Is this normal to be so sick? I’ve read it can go away in the second trimester.”
“Gosh, I hope so. I don’t think I can do this the whole time.” She wipes the sheen of sweat from her forehead.
“Well. I got you some stuff too. I also may have researched morning sickness.” I dig through some of the smaller boxes until I find the pregnancy pops. “Here. These are supposed to help.”
She unwraps it and sits on the weight bench.
“You know, I could really go for some fresh strawberry pancakes from Violet." She sucks on the ginger lollipop, looking like she’s actually fantasizing about the food she’s craving.
“Could you now? Weren't you just getting sick?” I raise my brow while I watch her suck the pop. Her lips popping off the same way they do when… Damn, that’s doing something to me.
How fast does she need breakfast?
If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under. Apparently the answer to how fast she needs breakfast is “faster than I can actually provide.”
“Iwassick. Not anymore though. Someone bought out an entire Amazon warehouse, and now I have these wonderful lollipops that taste like ass and are spicy as hell. Although, anything but pancakes may get us round two in the bushes.”
“Pancakes it is. Let me just grab my keys.” I kiss the top of her head and jog upstairs to grab my keys from the kitchen counter.
By the time I get back down to the garage, she's already in the truck waiting for me.
“Violet just started my pancakes. What do you want?” she asks.
“Maybe a croissant with bacon, egg, and cheese?” I can’t pass up one of Violet’s croissants if she has them. They are so soft, buttery, and flaky.
“Oh! Bacon sounds delicious. I wonder if she has any chocolate chip croissants. Maybe she could make some. How hard are they?” She rambles on while I drive, and she types on her phone, presumably to Violet. “Bad news. No chocolate croissants. But she does have chocolate chips, so I can cut it open and put some in there.”
“Good. I was worried I might have to learn how to bake. I’m good on a grill, but the kitchen isn’t a strength of mine.”
She grabs my hand resting on her thigh. “You’d learn how to make them for me?”
“Of course I would. I’d do anything for you. Including taking baking lessons from my sister-in-law.” Bringing her hand up to my lips, I kiss her soft skin.
“You’re so… Amazing seems like such an inadequate word.” Tears well in the corner of her eyes.
“Just you loving me is enough. I don’t need you to explain it.”
Putting the truck in park, she waits for me to come open the door and lift her out. Grasping her hand in mine, I lead the way to the kitchen of the inn where her food awaits her on the island. A matching set of plates sits in front of Violet.
“Girl! I am so excited to have someone to binge sugar with!” Violet pulls Sophia into a hug with my hand still grasped in hers.
One small plate holding a breakfast sandwich sits at the edge of the table. I assume it’s for me. “Thank you, Violet. We really appreciate you cooking breakfast.”
“Ugh. We really do. The morning sickness is so bad. I wasn’t prepared for it. But this guy”—she juts her thumb toward me“—was going to learn to bake from you if you didn’t have what I wanted.”
