35. Alex #2
That answer is vague enough to make me suspicious. I narrow my eyes at her while she brushes a crumb from the newspaper and straightens the edge of the page like we haven’t just discovered she’s apparently assigning personality traits to an embryo.
“Plenty of time for what?”
She leans back in her chair and folds both hands over the handle of her cane, her expression becoming far more thoughtful than the conversation reasonably requires. I know immediately I’m not going to like whatever she comes up with.
“I’ll need to start planning.”
The dread arrives before she explains herself.
“Mrs. Vance.”
“A child should know how to protect themselves.”
I stare at her for a second, trying to decide whether there is any safe way to respond to that. “Eventually, yes. We can probably let them master things like holding their own head up first.”
She ignores the sarcasm completely. “They should know how to spot trouble too. People teach children to be polite, then act surprised when they don’t trust themselves around someone who makes them uncomfortable.”
That takes a little of the humor out of me.
My fingers move toward my stomach before I think about doing it, resting lightly against the front of my shirt. There is nothing there to feel yet, but the idea of this tiny person eventually moving through the world with all the dangers I know exist makes my chest tighten.
“That part I can get behind,” I admit. “I’d like them to know they’re allowed to trust themselves.”
Mrs. Vance nods once, satisfied that I have finally started seeing reason. “Exactly. And they should know how to throw a proper punch.”
I close my eyes.
There it is.
“When they’re older.”
“Of course when they’re older.” Her tone suggests she thinks I’m ridiculous for assuming otherwise. “I’m not teaching a toddler how to fight, Alexandra.”
I open my eyes again. “The fact that you felt the need to clarify that does not reassure me.”
She reaches for the remaining half of her muffin and tears off another piece, entirely unconcerned by my distrust. “You worry too much.”
“I live with Ryder. One of us has to maintain a healthy amount of skepticism otherwise we’ll be living in a survival bunker before the year is out.”
That earns a quiet laugh from her, and for a few seconds I watch her pick crumbs from the paper while the enormity of what we’re talking about tries to catch up with me again.
A baby.
Mine and Ryder’s.
Someone who will know Mrs. Vance as the terrifying older woman who carries emergency supplies in her purse and believes personal safety education should probably begin before kindergarten.
Someone who might grow up in this kitchen, steal muffins from this table, leave fingerprints on the windows Ryder keeps obsessively clean, and learn exactly how many people are willing to show up when they need them.
The thought makes my eyes burn again.
Mrs. Vance notices, but this time she doesn’t call attention to it. She simply reaches across the table and gives my hand another quick squeeze before letting go.
“That little one is going to have plenty of people looking out for them,” she says, her voice softer now. Then the familiar mischief creeps back into her expression. “I’ll just make sure I’m the one who teaches them how to be a badass like their mother.”
A sound comes from behind me, quiet enough that I might have missed it if the kitchen weren’t otherwise still. The faint scrape of a shoe catching the edge of the doorway.
My hand freezes against my stomach.
Mrs. Vance’s eyes lift past my shoulder, and the change in her expression tells me everything before I turn.
I already know who’s standing there.
Ryder stands in the mudroom entrance with one hand resting against the frame. I have no idea how long he’s been there, but the color has gone out of his face, and his attention is fixed on me.
More specifically, on the hand that found its way back to my stomach.
For once, Ryder doesn’t move toward me.
He doesn’t ask three questions or scan the room or start trying to solve anything. He just stands there while I feel my heartbeat climb into my throat.
Mrs. Vance looks between us and wisely reaches for her tea again.
I turn in my chair.
“Ryder.”
His eyes finally lift to mine.
“Are you pregnant?”
There is so much inside the question that my nerves disappear.
I nod.
“Yeah.”
He stays where he is for another second before his hand falls away from the doorway. Then he crosses the kitchen slowly, like he needs the extra time to understand what I just told him.
I expect him to stop beside me. Instead, he crouches.
His hands come to my knees first, warm and steady, while his face tilts up toward mine. I’ve seen Ryder scared. I know the hard blankness he wears when fear gets big enough that he doesn’t trust himself with it.
His eyes are wet. “You’re sure?”
“I’m pretty sure four tests qualify. But I’m open to more testing when I need to pee again, if you want.”
A rough breath leaves him, almost a laugh, but he doesn’t look away from me. His thumb moves once against my knee before his gaze drops to my stomach.
I take one of his hands and move it beneath mine.
His palm spreads over my shirt.
There is nothing to feel yet, but Ryder’s face changes anyway.
I reach for his cheek with my free hand. “I was going to tell you tonight.”
He nods slowly, still looking down. “Okay.”
“I wasn’t hiding it from you.”
“I know.”
The answer is quiet and immediate.
He brings my hand away from his face and kisses my palm before pressing it against his mouth for another second.
When he finally looks at me again, there’s so much happiness mixed into the disbelief that I start crying despite every effort not to.
Ryder notices and rises enough to pull me against him carefully, and I bury my face against his shoulder while his hand stays over my stomach.
Mrs. Vance gives us the dignity of pretending to study the newspaper again.
I don’t know how long Ryder holds me before his body goes abruptly still.
He pulls back.
“Shit.”
I blink at him through wet lashes. “What?”
His eyes close briefly.
Then he starts laughing.
Not much. Just a low, disbelieving sound while he reaches into the front pocket of his jeans.
“I had a whole thing planned.”
My pulse changes before I even understand why.
Ryder looks at me, and the nervousness in his face makes mine disappear.
“I was going to wait until she left.” He glances briefly toward Mrs. Vance. “No offense.”
“None taken.”
His attention comes back to me as his fingers close around something inside his pocket. “There’s dinner outside. I hung lights. Your favorite flowers are currently hiding in the garage because I knew you’d find them if I brought them inside.”
My breath catches.
Ryder pulls out a small black box.
The entire room seems to disappear except for him.
“I’ve had this in my pocket since breakfast,” he admits. “I had a speech. I practiced it in the garage like an idiot because I wanted to get it right.”
“Ryder.”
“I don’t remember any of it now.”
His voice breaks just enough to hurt while he looks down at my stomach once more before meeting my eyes.
“I just found out we’re having a baby, and I can’t wait another minute to put my ring on your finger.”
Then he lowers onto one knee.
Mrs. Vance makes a quiet sound behind me, but I don’t look away from him.
Ryder takes my left hand. His thumb brushes over my knuckles, and I can feel the slightest tremor in his fingers.
“I’ve loved you for years,” he says. “I spent too many of them thinking wanting you meant I should stay away, and then I spent the last few months learning how to love you without holding too tight.”
My eyes burn harder.
He opens the box.
The ring inside is beautiful, but I barely see it.
“I want every version of this with you, Alex. The house. Your work all over the kitchen table. Your shoes where I’m going to trip over them even though you swear you put them away.
Your family showing up whenever they feel like it.
” His gaze drops briefly toward my stomach, and when it comes back to mine, his eyes are shining. “Our baby. Whatever comes after.”
He takes a breath.
“Marry me.”
I don’t make him wait.
“Yes.”
The word comes out with a laugh tangled through it.
I squeeze his hand and try again. “Yes, Ryder.”
Relief breaks across his face so fast that I almost laugh harder.
He slides the ring onto my finger.
Mrs. Vance leans forward from the other side of the table.
“Let me see.”
That finally makes both of us look at her. She holds out one hand expectantly.
Ryder stares for a second before laughing under his breath. “Can I kiss my fiancée first?”
Mrs. Vance waves him off. “Fine. But don’t take all afternoon.”
I’m still laughing when Ryder stands and pulls me into him.
The kiss is soft at first, then warmer when my hand finds the back of his neck. The ring presses against his skin. His palm rests at my waist, then slips carefully back to my stomach like he can’t help checking that the truth is still there.
When we finally separate, I look past him toward the kitchen.
My coffee beside his mug from this morning. His grocery list beneath my phone. My cardigan over the chair. Mrs. Vance sitting at our table with a newspaper full of red corrections and half a stolen muffin on her plate.
Nothing about the room announces that I moved in.
It doesn’t have to.
Ryder follows my gaze, then bends and presses his mouth against my temple.
Mrs. Vance taps her cane against the floor once.
“I’m still teaching the baby how to fight.”
I laugh and lean back against Ryder.
“We’ll discuss it.”
Her smile tells me she has already decided that means yes.
THE END