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“I’ll bring some over later.”
“I’m so proud of you, bro.”
“Proud?”
“You heard me. You’re really doing this, putting everything into this new life.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just… I’m so happy to see you ready to start a new life.”
“What about you and Elena?” I murmur. “How’s that going?”
He knows what I’m talking about. They’ve recently started the adoption process.
“It’s slow,” he says, “but we’ll get there. I was trying to figure out the family tree last night. I think my kid is going to be your niece or nephew and your second cousin. I think I’ve got that right.”
I chuckle. “It makes my head spin. See you later, bro.”
“Don’t forget the cake,” he calls after me when I jog down the street.
I walk up the long gravel path to our home.
There are already touches of Layla, from the flowers freshly planted in the beds surrounding the lawn, the “Happy People Only!” sign on the porch, and her sneakers in the doorway. Inside, there’s a photo of Layla and me on the wall taken outside the restaurant where we had our first date. Ourseconddate there went much smoother.
Baking smells reach me, guiding me to the kitchen. I find Layla standing at the counter in her PJs, a tank top, and shorts that have my amped-up body stirring. She tosses her head when she sees me, turning her hair even wilder, and then she walks around the kitchen divide and throws herself at me.
And when I say throw, Imeanthrow. I catch her, in love with how forward she is. She’s always had a healthy confidence in her curvy body, but ever since the proposal, she’s become even more assertive. Lowering her to the kitchen counter, we kiss passionately, and then Layla grabs my chest and gives me a soft shove. It’s like how she’d push against me in the early days when thestep-uncleandniecething was still hanging like a blade over our heads. Now, there’s pure love in her eyes.
“Do you want to see the cake?”
“Why do you sound so nervous?” I brush the hair behind her ear, loving how she turns to the movement. “I know it’s going to be delicious. Everything you make is.”
Taking my hand, she leads me around the kitchen divider. I stare at the cake, heart hammering as I swell with joy.
“The icing took a while,” she murmurs from behind me, stroking my shoulders.
“I can imagine,” I say, a croak in my voice.
With expert precision, my woman has spelled two words with the icing.
I’m pregnant.
I spin and sweep her into my arms, cheering as we turn around and around. She laughs and finds my lips again.
“You know I’ll never be able to eat this, right?” I say between flashes of love and lust.
She laughs. “That’s fine. I’ll make another.”
“Are we talking about cakes or babies?”
She beams. “Well, I was thinking both.”
EPILOGUE
ONE YEAR LATER
Layla
