Page 149 of Puck Princess

As I lie here with him, my hand on my belly, I’ve never believed anything more in my life. After years of trying to find my way, I finally belong somewhere. To someone. And it’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

EPILOGUE: OWEN

19 WEEKS LATER

“Pack your things, Miss. This is your official eviction notice.”

I reach around Callie and poke her stomach, but she doesn’t respond.

She just stares at herself miserably in the full-length mirror in our bathroom. She’s in nothing but her underwear and a sports bra, which became her staple outfit last week when she shouted, and I quote,I’m uncomfortable and nothing fits. I’m a naturalist until this baby is born.

“Her official eviction notice was a week ago. She has overstayed her welcome. This isn’t cute anymore.”

“Maybe not, but you are.” I plant a sloppy kiss on her cheek.

Callie brushes me off. “No. I’m not cute, either. I’m forty-one weeks pregnant.”

“I know, my love.”

“Not forty weeks.Forty-one.”

“I know my love.”

“I look like a planet.”

I spit out a laugh and then quickly fix my face before she fixes it for me. “That’s true. Because you are my whole world.”

She glares at me in the mirror, and I bite back my smile “Sorry. Just brushing up on the dad jokes before Victoria Rose gets here.”

After some very competitive back and forth about names—me wanting hockey terms and her wanting flowers—we settled on Victoria Rose. The first ever hockey game recorded was played at Victoria Skating Rink in Montreal. And, as for Rose, it’s a callback to our engagement.

It’s one of the only compromises I’ve ever liked making.

“Save them for the baby. You’re not my dad, and I’m not laughing.” There isn’t a hint of smile in her words.

It’s a good thing I’ve always loved Callie’s salt. Because she’s full of it lately.

“Fine. But I stand by it. You’re lovely, Cal.”

She whips around to face me, immediately shifting from angry and annoyed to soppy and upset. I brace for impact.

“Owen, I am never going to have this baby!” she cries.

I smooth a hand down her back. “Yes, you are.”

“She’s never going to come out!”

“Yes, she will.”

“She’s spent nine months in there seeing what a shitshow I am, and she’s decided she isn’t interested. I haven’t even had her yet and she already thinks I’m a bad mom.”

Houston, we have a problem.

Callie is on the verge of losing it.

I am also on the verge of losing it, but in laughter; not pregnancy-induced weeping.

“Callie, honey, she’s going to come out. And when she does, she’s going to love you. She won’t think you’re a shitshow.”

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