Page 131 of Time Out

At thirty weeks, I was almost as large as the house we lived in. I’d been right early on. Given my shorter size, my stomach kept stretching forward and around to my ass. I was as huge as the mountains we visited last weekend, and I groaned every time I had to pick something up off the floor. Forget tying shoes at this point. Thank God it was spring and I could live in sandals. Not to mention the swelling. My ankles were as large as my thighs.

Not that Davis minded my size at all. He was making it work for us, every night, in all manner of creative ways, but I’d truly love it once I could enjoy a simple night of missionary sex again. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been able to be on my back without feeling like a watermelon was crushing my diaphragm.

“Eat up, girls. It’s a busy day, and I’m going to need lots of help, okay?”

“When can we put our dresses on?” Joy asked. As the oldest of the three, she was taking her flower girl responsibilities seriously.

I bopped her nose with the tip of my finger. “As soon as I can be certain you can wear them without getting them dirty.”

“I won’t get mine dirty,” Martha pouted.

“I’m sure you won’t.”

Lies. Martha was as likely to run straight into the pond behind our yard and swing from the tree branches as she was to paint everyone’s fingernails a pretty pink color or experiment with makeup I’d bought for her. She was rough and tumble and sugary-sweet all wrapped up in an adorable package.

“What do you need help with?” Ruth stole a piece of bacon from the kitchen table. “I’ve already been working with Mama B and Annie and Avery on the flowers. They’re gorgeous, by the way, and the guys are setting up the chairs now.”

Today was my wedding day, and what was supposed to be a private, quiet affair had steamrolled into madness.

Almost all of Davis’s teammates insisted on coming, their wives or girlfriends. Davis’s entire family had made the trip from Nebraska. Not to mention there was Belle, her parents, Brianna, my band, that still made me laugh to say out loud. Their partners and so many more people who were currently helping me work on my first album were also now attending. I’d done weekly live singing on stages all over Broadway until my stomach grew too large and uncomfortable. For the last month, we’d been in the studio.

What was going to be fifteen to twenty people on a quiet afternoon was now well over a hundred. I’d tried to insist Mama B let us move the wedding and reception to somewhere in Nashville, but she’d insisted on hosting it in her backyard, which was where I’d wanted to be married.

On our land, where we were starting a family. I might have been as big as a house, but I’d agreed with Davis. Before our baby arrived, I’d be a Hall.

Davis’s mom and dad had been staying at the Buchanan’s house next door for the last week helping get everything prepared and they’d stepped up like I was one of their own daughters. A thought that made me cry every time I hugged them.

I blamed the hormones.

“Belle will be here soon with the hair and makeup team,” I told Ruth. Our sisters cheered at the table. They were more excited about hair and makeup and brand-new dresses than they were anything else. “Then there’s pictures. But I think we have an hour or so before things get crazy, right?”

“Perfect. Then I get to have a moment alone with you.” Davis swept into the house, screen door slamming behind him, and like always happened when he entered our home, the girls shoved out of their chairs and dove for him like he was their own personal tackling dummy.

Soon, he was squatting, hugging all three of them.

It’d taken a month to get them to smile around him, to go anywhere near him.

He’d broken through with ice cream cones and a shopping trip to the American Girl Doll store. Now, I was pretty sure he was their favorite.

Not that I minded… he was destined to be a Girl Dad.

He stood after giving them all hugs, and I burst out laughing as I saw his shirt.

“You’re a fool.” I laughed, my hands going to my stomach to hold up the weight of it.

“I’m your fool.”

“Nice shirt,” Ruth teased and grabbed another slice of bacon.

He brushed his hands down his rock-hard abs and shrugged. It was hot pink. Bold white letters. Future husband and girl dad forever.

“Who gave you that shirt?” I asked, still laughing.

“Mason.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised. Mason Yeets was a giant goofball and a great guy. If I had to pick my favorite teammate, it’d be him, hands down. He was single, a year older than Davis, but if we ever needed a night out, Mason was first to volunteer. Not that it happened often, but he was a frequent fixture in our home.

“How’s Luella feeling today?” he asked after he ushered my sisters back to their chairs and refocused them on eating. His hands went to my stomach, covering mine and he bent to kiss it. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

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