Chapter 6 - Naomi
As Ethan pays the bill—waving away my attempt to split it—I watch him interact with Madeline, who's giving him what appears to be a good-natured lecture judging by his sheepish grin. It's strange seeing him like this, stepping into responsibility so naturally when for months all I saw was his resistance to it.
"Ready?" he asks, returning to our table.
"What was that about?" I nod toward Madeline.
"Oh, just the standard 'you better do right by that girl' speech." He smiles. "I think I'm going to be getting a lot of those in the coming months."
We step outside into the afternoon sunlight. The air has that perfect fall crispness that always makes me want to bake apple pies and cinnamon rolls.
"I should probably get you back to the bakery," Ethan says, jingling his keys.
I check my watch. "Actually, Melissa's got it covered for the rest of the day. I cleared my schedule, thinking I might need to rest after the appointment."
"And do you? Need to rest?" His concern seems genuine.
"Not really," I admit. "I'm feeling pretty good today."
We stand there for a moment, neither of us quite ready to end our time together. The ultrasound image burns in my pocket like a talisman, connecting us in a fragile and unbreakable way.
"Would you like to come over?" I find myself asking. "To my place? I've actually started setting up the nursery, and I thought maybe you'd want to see it."
Surprise flickers across his face, followed by something that looks like pleasure.
"You've already started on a nursery?"
I nod, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "It's nothing fancy. Just some ideas, really. My place is small, so I'm converting the guest room."
"I'd love to see it," he says.
Twenty minutes later, I'm unlocking the door to my small craftsman bungalow on Maple Street. It's tiny compared to the sprawling Covington ranch house, but it's mine—the first property I ever owned, purchased with the down payment I saved from five years of working double shifts at bakeries in Billings before returning to Cedar Falls to open my own place.
"This is nice," Ethan says, looking around at my living room with its overstuffed couch and walls lined with bookshelves. "Cozy."
"Thanks," I reply, "It's not much, but it works for me."
"It feels like you," he observes, studying the collection of mismatched teacups I display on an open shelf. "Warm. Welcoming."
The compliment catches me off guard. "Kitchen's through there if you want water or anything," I say, deflecting. "The nursery—well, future nursery—is this way."
I lead him down the short hallway, past my bedroom door (firmly closed, thank goodness) to the small room at the back of the house. Taking a deep breath, I push open the door.
The room is still mostly a guest room—there's a daybed against one wall that will eventually have to go—but I've started the transformation. One wall is now a soft sage green, with the others still the original cream. A wooden rocking chair that belonged to my grandmother sits in the corner, and I've hung a simple mobile of felt woodland animals above where the crib will eventually go.
"It's not much yet," I say into the silence as Ethan takes it all in. "But I thought a nature theme might be nice. Gender-neutral, though now that we know she's a girl, I might add some more—"
"It's perfect," Ethan interrupts, his voice thick with emotion. He walks to the rocking chair, running his hand along its smooth arm. "This is beautiful craftsmanship."
"It was my grandmother's," I explain. "My mom rocked me in it, and now I'll rock Grace."
Hearing her name—our daughter's name—spoken aloud between us makes the air feel charged somehow.
"Grace," Ethan repeats softly. He moves to the window, which overlooks my small backyard with its vegetable garden and single apple tree. "Nice view. She'll be able to see the seasons change."
I'd had the same thought myself when choosing this room over the slightly larger one I use as my bedroom.
"I have some other things," I say, crossing to the closet. "Just a few things I've picked up, before I even knew..." I trail off, suddenly embarrassed by my early preparations.
But Ethan looks genuinely interested, so I pull out the small collection I've gathered: a stuffed rabbit with impossibly soft fur, a yellow blanket I couldn't resist, a few gender-neutral onesies with ducks and bears.
"You really have been planning," he says, taking the rabbit when I offer it.
"I guess I wanted to be prepared." I sit on the edge of the daybed. "And shopping for baby things made it feel more real, in a good way."
Ethan nods, still holding the rabbit. "I haven't bought anything yet. I wouldn't even know where to start."
"There's plenty of time," I assure him. "And honestly, babies don't need that much at first. Somewhere to sleep, something to wear, diapers. Love."
"Love they'll definitely have," he says with such conviction that I must blink back sudden tears. Pregnancy hormones are no joke.
Ethan perches beside me on the daybed, careful to leave space between us.
"I want to help with the nursery and everything else. I'm pretty handy—rebuilt half the cabins on the ranch last summer. I could build her a crib, maybe?"
"That would be wonderful, actually. I was looking at cribs online, but they're so expensive, and the reviews are all over the place."
"Consider it done," he says firmly. "And anything else you need. Just say the word."
We sit silently for a moment, both lost in thoughts of the future. I can almost see it—Grace toddling across this very floor, her first steps, her laughter filling this small room.
"Naomi," Ethan says suddenly, his voice serious. "I want you to know I'm in this for the long haul. Whatever that looks like."
I stare at him—the earnest hazel eyes, the slight furrow between his brows that appears when he's being completely sincere.
"I believe you," I say, surprising myself with how much I mean it. "Today helped. Seeing you at the appointment, the way you looked at the ultrasound..."
"I've never felt anything like that before," he admits. "Seeing her, hearing her heart—it changed something in me."
He moves closer on the daybed, shortening the distance between us. His eyes, usually dancing with mischief, are serious and focused entirely on me.
"I know we should take this slow," he says, his voice dropping lower. "I should do things right, be patient, prove myself to you. But I've always been a bit crazy."
My pulse quickens. "What do you mean by that?"
"I mean I'm going to regret it if I don't do this."
"Do what—"
His lips find mine before I can finish the question.
God, he's still such a good kisser. His lips taste like that fantastic grilled cheese, and there's a hint of sweetness from my chocolate shake. If I could, I'd stay like this forever, suspended in this perfect moment where everything feels possible.
He breaks the kiss but doesn't move away, instead leaning his stubbled cheek against mine. His breath is warm against my ear as he whispers, "You look more gorgeous than ever. I want to claim you once again—this time I'll stay after, this time I'll stay forever."
A shiver runs through me at his words. I'm not sure if he means every syllable or if he's fully aware of what he's promising. But I can't bring myself to say no to him either.
I've been waiting—longer than I care to admit—for him to say these things, to wake up to what we could be together.
"Follow me," I whisper back, taking his hand and standing. "To my bedroom. Don't say anything about the mess—I forgot to pick up the clothes I was trying on this morning."
He smirks, that classic Ethan expression that never fails to make my legs tremble. "I won't be looking at the clothes, Naomi."
My bedroom is just across the hall, bathed in afternoon light filtering through the gauzy curtains. As promised, there are clothes scattered across the foot of the bed—evidence of my earlier struggle to find something that still fits comfortably.
None of that matters now as Ethan closes the door behind us and we begin undressing with an urgency that belies the months apart. I'm naked first, suddenly self-conscious of my changing body—the fuller breasts, the small but definite curve of my belly.
But the hunger in Ethan's eyes as he sheds his own clothes banishes any insecurity. When he stands before me, gloriously naked, I can't help but feel a rush of desire. I've missed his body—lean and muscled from ranch work, and particularly the thick, veined cock that's already hard for me.
He doesn't waste time with more words. Instead, he guides me to the bed, his fingertips trailing fire across my skin. When his hand moves between my thighs, I gasp at the contact.
"Always so wet for me," he murmurs, his fingers curled, going back and forth inside me. "I've always loved that about you."
I arch into his touch, my body remembering his even after these months apart. There's no awkwardness, no fumbling—just the perfect pressure that makes me writhe beneath him.
"I've missed you," I confess, the words tumbling out unchecked. "Missed this."
"I'm not going anywhere this time," he promises, his free hand cradling my face, making me look into his eyes. "I need you to believe that."
His sincerity is almost as arousing as his touch. I pull him down for another kiss, deeper and more desperate than before. His body covers mine, careful to keep his weight off my belly, and the feeling of skin against skin is electric.
"I want you inside me," I whisper against his lips. "Please, Ethan."
He positions himself between my thighs, the tip of his cock teasing my entrance.
"You're sure?" he asks, ever so serious now. "With the baby, it's okay?"
The question—his concern—makes me fall for him a little more. "It's perfectly safe," I assure him. "Dr. Mason already told me."
With a groan of relief, he pushes forward slowly, filling me entirely. We both gasp at the sensation, familiar yet somehow entirely new.
"God, Naomi," he breathes, holding still once he's fully in. "You feel like coming home."
The words bring unexpected tears to my eyes. Home. Yes, that's exactly what this feels like—finding home in each other's arms. He begins to move, setting a gentle pace that gradually builds in intensity.
This isn't like the urgent, passionate encounters we shared before. This is something different—something deeper and more meaningful. In every stroke, every kiss, every murmured endearment, I feel his promise. This time is different. This time, he's truly with me.
He kisses my face—my forehead, my cheeks, the corner of my mouth—as his pace quickens. His grip on my hands tightens, our fingers interlaced against the sheets.
"I'm never going to let you go," he breathes against my neck. "I was too dumb the first time to realize what we could have had. But not now." His eyes lock with mine, intense and certain. "Now I see it—my future, our future together with our daughter."
I want to tell him that I want all that too, but that we can't rush it, that we need to be sure. Yet the words die in my throat. How can I speak of caution now, with him looking so heartbreakingly handsome above me?
Sweat trickles down his forehead and across his toned chest, catching the golden afternoon light. My breasts jiggle with each thrust, sensitive and fuller than they've ever been.
A moan escapes me, louder than I intended. He's hitting that perfect spot inside me, over and over, and I can't help but smile up at him, wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders to pull him closer.
"Ethan," I whisper into his ear, overcome with sensation and emotion. "Finish inside me. At least now you're safe to do it."
His eyes widen at my words, and something primal flashes across his face. He thrusts forward with renewed purpose, his strong arms flexing on either side of me like pillars, holding himself just high enough to keep pressure off my belly.
The familiar tightening begins deep inside me, waves of pleasure building until I can't hold back any longer. I arch beneath him, crying out his name as I reach my peak, my body pulsing around him.
He follows seconds later, his rhythm faltering as he groans and fills me with his seed. When he eventually pulls out, I feel a trickle of white liquid on the sheets, but I can't bring myself to care about the mess. He rolls to my side, immediately placing a reverent hand on my belly, massaging gentle circles over the small swell where our daughter grows.
"That was..." he trails off, his breathing still ragged.
"Yeah," I agree, unable to find better words myself.
"I meant every word, Naomi," he says after a moment, propping himself up on one elbow to look at me properly. "I want this. I want you. And we can go at your pace—I'm fine with however slow you need to take it."
I ruffle his sweat-dampened hair, my heart so full it feels like it might burst. "I never thought you'd grow up so fast."
He grins, that familiar Ethan smile that's always been my weakness.
"Some news have that effect," he shrugs. "Having a daughter is one of them." His expression softens as his hand continues its gentle caress of my belly. "I want to be the type of man she idolizes, you know?"
I pull him closer, resting my head against his chest where I can hear the steady rhythm of his heart.
"You're starting to be," I tell him honestly. "And I love that for us. For her." I trace patterns on his skin, marveling at how right this feels. "Our future looks brighter than I ever imagined."
We lie there in comfortable silence as the afternoon light shifts across my bedroom walls. Outside, a bird calls, and somewhere down the street, a child laughs—ordinary sounds that now seem like promises of what's to come.
I know we still have challenges ahead. Ethan has growth to do, patterns to break. I have fears to overcome, trust to rebuild. We have a thousand practical matters to sort out—living arrangements, schedules, finances. A nursery to finish, a birth plan to create, a life to rearrange.
But for now, in this perfect stolen moment, I let myself believe in the possibility of us. The three of us. A family I never expected but now can't imagine living without.
Ethan's breathing has deepened, and I realize he's fallen asleep, his arm protectively curved around me, his hand still resting on our growing daughter. I place my hand over his, our fingers aligned over the small swell of new life.
"We're going to be okay, Grace," I whisper, a promise to our daughter, to Ethan, to myself. "Better than okay."
And for the first time since seeing those two pink lines on the pregnancy test four months ago, I truly believe it.