Page 128 of Mile High Daddy

Maggie winces, throwing me a sheepish look as she pulls into a parking lot.

“Surprise,” she says, grinning way too wide. “It’s your baby shower!”

I blink.

Then blink again.

“You’re kidding,” I say, my brain struggling to catch up.

“Nope,” Maggie chirps, putting the car in park. “It was supposed to be a surprise, but someone—I won’t name names—just texted in the group chat that the party is pushed back by a few hours.”

My jaw drops. “Group chat? How many people did you invite?”

Maggie waves a hand dismissively. “Not many, just a few of our neighbors and customers. Oh, and your husband insisted.”

I almost choke on air.

Mikhail?

Maggie gives me a look. “He helped me plan it.”

I stare at her, my brain struggling to process that information.

Mikhail—the man who glares at anyone who looks at me too long, who acts like he’s allergic to social gatherings, who probably thinks baby showers are a waste of time—helped plan one for me?

“You’re lying,” I say flatly.

Maggie laughs. “Swear on my life. He was all, ‘Make sure it’s elegant, don’t let her lift a finger, and don’t let anyone bring cheap cake.’ He was very specific about the cake, by the way.”

I blink rapidly, trying to picture it—Mikhail discussing decorations, approving guest lists, making sure I had a proper cake?

The image is so ridiculous I almost laugh.

Almost.

Because underneath my shock and confusion, something warm spreads through my chest.

Mikhail did this for me.

He planned this for me.

And I have no idea what to do with that information.

I step out of the car, my boots crunching against the gravel, and glance around.

“Where are we, anyway?” I ask, still feeling a little dazed from everything Maggie just dropped on me.

She grins, motioning to the elegant stone building in front of us, warm lights glowing from its tall windows. “Fevre Inn. The best thing we have in Camden Hill.”

I take it in—the cobblestone path, the twinkling fairy lights strung along the outdoor patio, the soft hum of music floating through the air. It’s…beautiful.

“You really went all out,” I murmur, but before Maggie can respond, she shoots me a knowing smile.

“Mikhailwent all out,” she corrects. “He wanted it to be outdoors, so you wouldn’t feel claustrophobic.”

Something tightens in my chest.

Mikhail thought about that?

---