Rockstar’s Accidental Marriage (Wild Band Rockstars #2)

25. Twenty-Five

Twenty-Five

Emily

We just got back from a quick trip to the local shops, and the car is stuffed with bags of baby items: tiny onesies, a soft blanket with pastel stars, and more decorative touches for the nursery than we’d planned to buy.

Sam carries most of the bags, grinning at me over his shoulder as he sets them down. “You’re going to spoil this kid before they’re even here,” he teases.

“You’re one to talk,” I reply, arching a brow. “Who insisted we buy that stuffed tiger?”

“That tiger had personality,” he says, deadpan, then breaks into a soft laugh.

I shake my head, but I can’t hide my smile. “Come on, we’ve got work to do. That nursery isn’t going to decorate itself.”

The room is already painted a soft, pale yellow. When we decided to make the beach house more permanent, I was relieved that we didn’t have to touch the walls. The pale color makes the space feel inviting, and with the weak afternoon sun streaming through the windows, it’s the perfect nursery.

Sam drags the white crib box into the middle of the room, squinting at the instructions like they’re written in another language.

“Do we really need directions?” he mutters, flipping the paper over.

“Yes,” I say firmly, snatching the instructions from his hand. “This is for our baby. You don’t just wing it with something like this.”

He raises his hands in surrender, a smile tugging at his lips. “Yes, ma’am. You’re the Boss Lady.”

I try to help, but “help” might be a stretch. Sam does most of the heavy lifting while I hover nearby, holding screws and pieces of wood that look important but might not actually be.

“You sure you’ve got this?” I ask, leaning over his shoulder as he tightens a bolt.

“Emily,” he says, his tone laced with mock exasperation, “if I can play to sold-out stadiums and survive nights on a tour bus with Vince’s snoring, I think I can handle a crib.”

“You’ve made your point,” I concede, biting back a smile.

While Sam focuses on the crib, I begin arranging the decorations we picked out earlier. The jungle animal prints are even cuter than I remember—playful elephants, mischievous monkeys, and a baby giraffe with wide, curious eyes.

I hold one up to the wall, tilting my head. “What do you think? Too high?”

Sam glances over his shoulder, a screwdriver in hand. “Looks perfect. But if you want to keep asking me, I don’t mind. Gives me an excuse to look at you.”

I roll my eyes, but my heart flutters.

Once the crib is assembled—looking surprisingly sturdy, thanks to Sam’s determination—we stand back to admire the room. It’s simple but sweet, with the crib against one wall, the animal prints carefully spaced, and a small bookshelf.

“It’s starting to feel real,” I say softly, my hand resting on my slight baby bump.

Sam steps behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. “It’s been real since the moment I heard the heartbeat,” he murmurs.

We stand there for a moment, daydreaming of our child and what the future will look like. The soft yellow walls seem to glow, the perfect backdrop for this new chapter in our lives.

Then, suddenly, I feel it—a faint flutter, like a butterfly brushing against my skin from the inside.

I gasp, my hand flying to my belly.

“What?” Sam asks, alarmed.

“The baby,” I whisper, turning to look at him. “I felt it move.”

His eyes widen, and he drops to his knees in front of me, placing his hands gently over mine. “Are you serious? Can you feel it again?”

We wait, holding our breath, and then there it is—a tiny, unmistakable movement.

Sam’s face lights up with a mixture of awe and joy, and he presses a soft kiss to my belly. “Hey, little one,” he says quietly, his voice filled with wonder. “We feel you. You’re really in there, huh?”

Tears prick my eyes as I watch him. The tenderness in his expression makes my heart skip. His broad hands span my belly so gently, like I'm something precious, and the way he looks up at me with such emotion makes my heart swell with emotion. This moment feels bigger than anything else—bigger than the tours, the sold-out shows, or even the uncertainty that’s been lingering in the back of my mind.

“Sam,” I whisper, my voice trembling.

He looks up at me, his expression open and raw. “Yeah?”

“You’re going to be a great father,” I say simply.

His hands tighten gently over mine, and he stands, pulling me into his arms. “Thanks,” he says, his voice steady. “And you’ll be a wonderful mother.”

We stay like that for a while, wrapped up in the moment and the tiny life growing between us. The worries and challenges can wait—for now, there’s only this.

Eventually, we finish tidying up the nursery, placing the final touches on the room. By the time we’re done, it feels like a little piece of magic, a space filled with love and anticipation.

“Looks good,” Sam says, surveying the room.

“Better than good,” I reply, leaning against his side. “It’s practically perfect in every way.”

Sam gives me a curious look. “Is that a quote? It sounds familiar.”

“Yes, it’s from Mary Poppins,” I say quietly.

“Ah, I knew I recognized it,” he grins, then he starts to softly sing, “A spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down… in the most delightful way.”

Glancing up at him, I say, “I should have known you’d best remember the music and songs.”

“What? Me?” he grins, a playful gleam in his eyes. “Come on, let’s go fly a kite.”

As I laugh at his humor, he presses a soft kiss to the top of my head, his hand resting on my belly. “I’ll teach our baby to appreciate my jokes.”

“Yes, they are an acquired taste,” I say drily, rolling my eyes but smiling.

“Hey now,” he quips, his grin infectious. “No daddy bashing.”

Smiling as we leave the nursery, I glance back one last time. The soft yellow walls, the crib, the tiny decorations—our baby is coming, and we’re ready. Or at least, we will be.

Sam grabs my hand and leads me into the hallway, where he turns to me with a playful gleam in his eye.

“Go put on something nice,” he says, his tone casual but firm.

I blink at him. “Nice? For what? We’re not going anywhere, are we?”

He grins, leaning casually against the wall. “Oh, we’re going out, Mrs. Ryder. And I don’t want to hear any excuses. Consider it a date night.”

I tilt my head, curiosity piqued. “A date night? You know we’re kind of limited in our options if you don’t want to be recognized."

“Don’t worry,” he says, producing two small tickets from his pocket and waving them in the air. “I’ve got it covered.”

I snatch the tickets from his hand and read them. “You got us tickets to the blockbuster movie I’ve wanted to see?”

“Yep,” he replies with a self-satisfied grin. “Now, go get ready. And don’t take too long—we’ve got popcorn and candy waiting.”

I laugh as I head to the bedroom, feeling a warm sense of excitement. The idea of going to the movies with Sam feels almost nostalgic as if we’re a normal couple with no complications or rockstar drama.

By the time I’m ready, Sam is waiting by the door, dressed in a nice pair of jeans, a long-sleeved shirt that hides his tattoos, and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes.

“Going for the incognito look?” I tease as I grab my purse.

He shrugs. “You know how it is. Can’t have the whole town swarming me for autographs when I’m trying to enjoy a movie with my wife.”

I shake my head but can’t help the smile tugging at my lips as we head out to the truck.

The theater he picked is small and quaint, the kind of place that still has a retro popcorn machine and a marquee out front with glowing letters spelling out the movie titles.

Sam keeps his head down as we head inside, his hand lightly resting on the small of my back. We grab a large tub of buttered popcorn and a box of Raisinets, and Sam insists on getting a giant soda to share despite my protest that I’ll only drink a few sips.

As we settle into our seats near the back, I can’t help but glance over at him, his features barely visible under the shadow of his cap.

“Now that the movie is starting,” I whisper as the lights dim, “you can probably risk taking off your cap and sunglasses.”

“About time,” he whispers back, popping a raisinet into his mouth. “This sneaking around is a pain, but it’s worth it to spend a night out with you.”

His words send a flutter through my chest, and I lean a little closer, the scent of buttered popcorn and his cologne mingling in the air.

The movie is everything I hoped it would be—funny, heartwarming, and just the right amount of cheesy. His dry humor makes me laugh so hard I have to shush him more than once. Yet, every time Sam leans close to whisper comments in my ear, his warm breath sends shivers down my spine. Even in the darkness, doing something as simple as sharing popcorn feels intimate, his fingers brushing mine as we reach into the container. By the time the credits roll, I feel lighter than I have in weeks.

As we leave the theater, Sam takes my hand, lacing his fingers through mine.

“The night’s not over yet,” he says with a warm glint in his eye.

“Oh?” I ask, letting him lead me to the truck.

“I’ve got one more surprise for you.”

Ten minutes later, we pull up to a small Thai restaurant tucked into a corner of town I’ve never explored. The warm glow of lanterns lights up the windows, and the faint smell of lemongrass and spices drifts through the air as we step inside.

“You’ve been craving spicy food, right?” Sam says as the hostess leads us to a private booth near the back.

I nod, feeling a rush of gratitude. “You’ve been paying attention.”

“Of course I have,” he replies, sliding into the booth across from me.

The menu is filled with options that make my mouth water, and I let Sam take the lead in ordering. He picks out a variety of dishes—spicy pad Thai, green curry, and crispy spring rolls—while I sip on a glass of herbal tea.

As we wait for the food, the conversation turns to lighter topics—our favorite childhood meals, the worst dinners we’ve ever had, and the quirks of incognito dining.

But as the dishes arrive and we dig in, the conversation takes on a more serious tone.

“You’ve been different lately,” Sam says, his eyes meeting mine across the table.

“Different, how?” I ask, though I feel I already know what he means.

“Quieter. More—I don’t know. Pensive.”

I sigh, setting down my fork. “It’s just... everything feels so uncertain right now. Worrying about the baby and the issues with the band. Sometimes, it feels like I’m barely holding it together.”

“You’re doing more than holding it together, Em.” Sam reaches across the table, his hand covering mine. “Don’t let whoever is behind the sabotage get to you. And don’t worry–about anything. It isn’t good for the baby,” he murmurs. In a firmer voice, he states. “Have a little faith that everything will work out.”

His words make my throat tighten, and I look down at our hands, his calloused fingers warm and steady against mine.

“You make it sound so easy,” I say softly.

“It’s not,” he admits. “But nothing worth having ever is.”

As the evening winds down, we linger over dessert—sticky mango rice that’s just sweet enough to balance the spice of the meal.

Sam leans back in his seat, a satisfied smile on his face. “I’d say this was a pretty successful date night.”

I nod, feeling a contentment I haven’t felt in a long time. “It was perfect.”

As we leave the restaurant, Sam slips an arm around my waist, pulling me close as we walk to the parking lot. “Almost,” he whispers, “It won’t be perfect until I’ve made love to my wife.”

The heated look in his eyes makes all my girly parts tingle, and my breath catches. Sam notices my response, and his knowing laugh is smug as he leads me to the waiting truck.