Chapter 32
LYDI-BUGS I’ll love them no matter what, but after Fletcher mentioned it, I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m excited. I want to know, now.
“Whenever you want.” He strides back into the living room with two mugs of hot chocolate.
He’s constantly asking how I’m feeling, doing little things for me, and providing for me in different ways. The other day, I mentioned that my feet were sore after a long day of coaching, and he rubbed them for an hour. He didn’t have to do that, but he didn’t even question it. He just did it.
He came with me to help me set up my registry, picking out all the things I’ll need, but that doesn’t even compare to the way he listened to the store associate as she explained the different types of car seats.
She helped decide which one would be best, and he made sure to get a second car seat for his vehicle as well.
He’s been to every doctor’s appointment, asking about what to expect in the coming weeks of my pregnancy, and more.
I can’t help but think about how our future might look, what our life together might be, and what he’ll be like as a father. Surely, he’ll be incredible if he’s already an amazing partner to me in the short time we’ve been doing this.
He’s always been attractive, of course, but now that we’re dating, I’ve really given myself permission to ogle him.
He’s in a pair of low-hanging red-and-green flannel pajama pants, showing his impressive V-line and muscles.
He’s shirtless, and my eyes roam over his bare chest. His chest hair is trimmed, and his muscles are prominent.
The difference between then and now is that before, I found him attractive, but I wasn’t turned on by him.
Now, he can give me one simple look, wink, or flex his muscles, and I’m a puddle.
Seriously, I don’t think I’ve been so turned on in my life, let alone my best friend.
Fletcher winks at me—because of course he does—and I promptly let out a squeak.
“Sorry,” I mutter, taking the mug from him.
The heat from the ceramic warms my cold hands as I take a sip of the creamy liquid, distracting me from my embarrassment.
“Nothing to be sorry for. You can look anytime you want. I’m yours for the viewing.” He sits, sipping his hot chocolate. “As for presents, we can do it anytime.”
I nod, trying to hide my eagerness.
“You don’t care about any of the presents but one, do you?” Fletcher says, his voice filled with humor.
I groan. “I didn’t think I cared, but now, it’s all I can think about! Especially knowing that you know. It’s killing me.”
Fletcher laughs softly and stands from the couch. He sets his mug on the coffee table and strides over to the tree, collecting all the presents. When he picks up the seventh present, my heart pounds.
He arranges the presents on the coffee table and takes my mug, replacing it with the small, square-shaped present. Butterflies swirl in my belly, and I place a hand there. Holy shit, this is really happening.
Fletcher sits beside me, tucking himself under my blanket. He wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me in as close as possible. “Go for it.”
My heart thumps. Those sage green eyes of his are glassy. Oh god, I’m not ready.
“Open it.” He tips his chin at the box.
My fingers find the edge of the paper, and I rip it slowly.
Once the wrapping paper is off, I’m left with a white cardboard box.
I stare at it for a long moment, trying to bring myself to open it.
It’s not that big of a deal, but I’m so nervous and excited that I can’t help but pause.
Fletcher squeezes my shoulder, kissing my cheek. I take a deep breath and lift the lid.
Inside is a pastel pink onesie. On the front of it is a red and black ladybug with the words Little Lady in a cursive font.
“Oh my god,” I blurt, tears of excitement streaming down my cheeks. “It’s a girl?”
“It’s a girl.” Fletcher's voice is tight, and I look over at him to see matching tears running down his cheeks, too.
He pulls me into a tight hug where we’re both crying, clinging to each other in the pure happiness of this moment.
When we finally break apart, I swipe at the stray tears from my cheeks. “I’m so excited. I would have been excited either way, but I can’t wait to watch you be a girl dad.”
Fletcher smiles. “This little ladybug is going to be so loved.”
“Ladybug?” I question, glancing back down at the onesie. “Why ladybug?”
“It’s what I’ve been calling her in my head, before I even knew it was a girl. You’re my Lydi-bug, and the baby is my ladybug. It made sense, I guess.”
I want to kiss him so bad. I don’t, though. If he has a plan, I’ll let him take the lead. Instead, I throw myself back into his arms for another hug, where I tuck myself into his neck, breathing him in.
He kisses my cheeks, my forehead, the top of my head, anywhere he can, but the one place I know we both want. For now, this is enough. Being in his arms is perfect.
“Thank you,” I say into his neck. “I’m so glad we found out like this.”
“Me too. It was hard to keep it from you, but it was so special to be the first one to know.”
“I can’t imagine it any other way.”
Fletcher brings me another cup of hot chocolate a few hours later, once all of our presents are unwrapped and we’re snuggled up on the couch watching Elf.
“Do you have New Year’s off?” Fletcher asks.
“Yeah. The offices and rinks are all closed.”
“Great. Don’t make any plans.” He brushes a curl off my cheek. “I have a morning practice on New Year’s Eve, but I’ll pick you up after.”
“Where are we going? Or is it another surprise?” I ask, though I get the feeling I already know the answer.
“Another surprise. But it will be fun, I promise.”
“I never doubted that.” I squeeze his hand. “I always have fun with you.”
“Me too.”
The sun has set now, leaving us alone in the glow of the Christmas tree. It really has been the perfect day. I never thought something like this—a relationship— would happen between us, but I can’t imagine going back. I never even gave myself space to hope for more with him.
I’m determined to give my daughter a better childhood than I had, and Fletcher is willing to step up and be there for me and for her.
But he has a busier schedule than even my dad did.
He has at least ten years left in his professional career, probably more.
That’s ten years of a childhood he might be missing out on.
Am I willing to put my daughter through what I went through?
No. I know better than letting my thoughts run wild.
Fletcher is a better man than my father ever was. He’s more present, more dedicated, and more freely giving with his love. Sure, he might have a demanding career, but I have a feeling he will do whatever it takes to be present for my—our—daughter.
It feels weird to reference the baby as our daughter, but that’s what she is.
She’s his, too, and I know he will prove to us every day that blood or not, it doesn’t matter.
Family is who you choose. I think it’s at this moment that I fully accept Fletcher is going to be my child’s father.
He’s told me time and time again he’s in it for the long haul, but it fully sinks in.
It’s not just going to be me as her parent.