Page 121 of Pack Baby for the Silver Foxes

She looked at Hudson, then at me, eyes wide. “I thought maybe pregnancy made scents strange. Or my heat. Or because you were the fathers.”

“It started before we knew about the babies,” Hudson said.

“In Boston,” I added.

Her lips parted. “You knew?”

“We suspected,” Hudson said. “We didn’t know you smelled it too.”

“Why didn’t you ask?”

I gave her a look. “You were very busy telling us we were old and it was only for your heat.”

A laugh broke out of her, wet and disbelieving. “You are old.”

“You can rein in the compliments,” I said softly.

She laughed. “But I like you both being older. It makes me feel…protected.”

Hudson kissed her with enough tenderness that Mary clutched his coat. When he drew back, I turned her enough to kiss her temple. “Ours,” I murmured, too low for anyone else.

She shivered. Then she lifted her chin, even with tears still on her face. “If I cry in a baby shop, I will blame hormones and both of you.”

“Fair,” Hudson said.

“I also want the ugly giraffe lamp now.”

I looked at it across the aisle. “For Artem?”

“For us.”

Hudson stared at her.

Mary wiped her cheeks. “What? It has character.”

I kissed the top of her head because if I did anything more, we would be asked to leave the shop and possibly the borough.

Hudson looked at the lamp, then at Mary. “Fine,” he said.

Mary’s smile was small but real. “Really?”

“But it goes nowhere near the nursery. The babies will be traumatized.”

“Negotiable.”

“No.”

“Trial basis.”

“Mary.”

“Hudson.”

The assistant returned with a careful smile. “Shall I add the giraffe lamp?”

Hudson opened his mouth.

“Yes,” Mary said.