“Our baby, Reg.”
“I know,” he choked out.
Cynthia measured the baby and said they were growing well and the heartbeat was strong. She left us alone with the image she printed out.
“We can do this.” I sat up and rested my head on Reg’s chest.
“I was never in any doubt, my darling.”
22
REG
It was Saturday morning and I’d woken early. I’d been taking off most weekends to spend them with Banks, and now that I had the new assistant manager, it was rare that I had to go in. Everyone at work understood that family came first, and I appreciated it.
As I poured my morning coffee, I noticed that the pile of baby catalogs on the counter had grown significantly. Before Banks signed up for an online baby registry, I’d assumed all baby marketing would be online, like everything else seemed to be. And then he got the first postcard, then a flier, and now? Now it appeared that good old-fashioned catalogs were all the rage in the baby world.
As I flipped through them, I realized my mate had circled not one, not two, but what seemed like a thousand different items. It wasn’t that he wanted everything he circled—if he did, I’d figure out a way to make it happen. No, he was circling anything that caught his eye, marking it to look back at later. My guess was that he was trying to make decisions but was paralyzed by wanting everything to be perfect. I knew this was partlythe pregnancy hormones talking—emotions and instincts were strange like that—but also, he had that edge to his personality. This was just that amplified, and I wanted to make it easier for him.
As I whipped up French toast, his craving of the week, I brainstormed a plan. Then it hit me: The Baby Expo. It wasn’t just any shopping trip, it was an experience. At least that’s what the flier that came said. We could make it an overnight trip to the city and tomorrow attend “The World’s Largest Baby Expo.” Was it really the largest? Who knew? It didn’t matter. It would have a lot of the items he’d been circling, and seeing them in person might help him sort through his thoughts. Besides, adventure was always fun.
He walked in just as I was plating breakfast, one hand resting on his slightly rounded belly. He still wasn’t showing too much, and if he really wanted to, he could still squeeze into my sweatpants. But he’d recently caved and started wearing paternity pants, and I was relieved—he had to be more comfortable now.
“French toast.” He licked his lips. “You’re the best mate ever.”
“You just like me for my cooking,” I teased.
“No, I like you for your…” He paused, smirking. “Cock, but sure, let’s go with cooking.”
Pregnancy had made him extra flirty—and extra horny—and I wasn’t complaining. It wasn’t like I wanted to keep my hands off him, either. The more his body changed, the hotter he got. There was something about seeing him growing our family that ticked all my buttons.
We ate and chatted about the weather, easing our way into the day, and when he was done, I sprung what I hoped would be thewelcome surprise on him. “Pack a bag. We are going away for the night.”
“We’re going to visit the pack?”
“Not this weekend, but we can soon if you want. I had this in mind.” I took out my phone and tapped away for a moment, pulled up the expo’s website, and handed him the screen. “What do you say we get a hotel, go to a nice dinner tonight, and tomorrow, check this out?”
“A baby expo?” he asked, his interest piqued.
“Yeah. You can talk to people, see new products, maybe bring a notebook to take notes. You know, do the dad thing.”
He grinned. “Oh, I’m definitely bringing a notebook. And for dinner, can we go someplace that serves French toast?”
“Anything you want.” I’d already assumed that was on the menu for dinner and probably lunch as well.
An hour later, we were on the road. The city was perfect this time of year—not too cold, not too hot, with just the right balance of fresh early-summer air. After checking into our hotel, we spent the day wandering the neighborhoods, exploring nooks and crannies, and taking in the sights. And of course, we found a breakfast-all-day hole-in-the-wall for my mate to enjoy his current craving.
By my estimate, he’d be done with French toast in two more days—tops. Then, like clockwork, he’d find a new food to obsess over. Last week, it was egg sandwiches. Before that, pasta. There’d even been a strawberry phase. Pregnancy was undeniably weird.
We had a beautiful day, a sexy night, and the next morning, we headed to the expo after another meal of French toast.
The expo was huge, and we had a blast wandering from booth to booth, entering contests, collecting free samples, and finally narrowing down some decisions for the nursery. He was in his element, taking notes in his trusty notebook, while I enjoyed watching him as he explored all the gear.
On the drive home, he reached over, intertwining his fingers with mine. “Thank you,” he said softly. “For taking me this weekend. It was so nice to spend time with you—and I was definitely helped. I was getting a little obsessive about the nursery. I blame the hormones.”
“No way,” I teased. “Hormones making you act weird? Never.”
“You try having all these hormones racing through you,” he shot back.