Page 8 of Curvy Girl and the Ex-Military Firefighter

"I'm fine," she calls back, but her voice sounds shaky. "Just... dropped something."

Like hell she's fine. She hasn't been fine all morning.

"Can I come in?"

Silence. Then, the sound of the lock turning.

I glance back down the stairs, where I can hear Aunt Linda and Uncle Jack whispering. Whatever's going on with Emma, she probably doesn't want an audience.

I push the door open, and my heart stops.

Emma's sitting on the bathtub's edge, tears streaming down her face. And in her trembling hands is a pregnancy test.

Positive.

The world tilts on its axis. Everything clicks into place – the nervousness, the lack of coffee, the nausea at breakfast. I blink at the test, then at Emma, then back at the test.

"Is that..." My voice comes out rough. "Are you..."

"I'm pregnant." She whispers it like she's confessing a crime. "I just found out this morning."

My legs feel wobbly. I shut the bathroom door and slide down it until I'm sitting on the floor. The fancy suit pants will probably wrinkle, but I couldn't care less now.

"Say something," Emma pleads, her knuckles white around the test. "Please."

A baby. My baby. Our baby.

"Is this why you've been acting strange all morning?"

She nods, tears still falling.

"I didn't know how to tell you. We never talked about kids, and your job is so dangerous, and we're not even really dating, and—"

"Stop." I push myself up, crossing the small bathroom in one stride. "What do you mean we're not really dating?"

"This was supposed to be pretend, right?" she gestures vaguely toward the door, where her family waits. "Just for today."

I kneel in front of her, taking the test and setting it aside so I can hold both her hands.

"Emma, sweetheart, look at me."

She raises her eyes to mine, mascara smeared beneath them.

"Nothing about us has been pretend." I squeeze her fingers. "Not the Christmas Festival, not the late-night calls, not the way I feel about you. I was just telling your aunt and uncle I'd marry you tomorrow if you'd have me."

Her eyes widen. "You what?"

"I mean it." I reach up to wipe a tear from her cheek. "And now you're telling me we're having a baby? Emma, that's not scary – that's amazing."

"But your job—"

"I'll be more careful." I press my forehead to hers.

A sob escapes her. "You're not running?"

"Running?" I pull back to look at her properly. "Sweetheart, I've been yours since the moment I saw you. This baby? That's just one more reason to stay."

My hands are steady as I wipe away Emma's tears, but my insides are in complete chaos. A father. Me. The guy who grew up bouncing between foster homes, never knowing what a real dad should be like.

---