“I think I’ll run to the drugstore.”

Bristol’s standing at the door of our office. Technically, it’s Bristol’s office in her cottage. My place a few miles away is occupied by a couple of the Kilimanjaro guys, and our place in New York isn’t actually ours. It’s Mrs. O’Malley’s, but we’re still leasing it. Lately I keep thinking about getting a bigger house here, a place that’s ours, hers and mine, a place big enough for us and our kids. Dammit. As much as I keep telling myself not to think about our kids, I do. I meant it when I told Bristol there was no pressure. There absolutely isn’t, but man do I want to meet these kids we’ll have one day.

I check the time on the piece-of-shit watch I can’t bring myself to get rid of. When I took it to the watch repair shop, they looked at me like the screws in the watch might not be the only ones loose. Bristol won it at a carnival over a decade ago, for God’s sake. We never even paid for it, but I paid the shop to make it work again.

“It’s late, babe,” I mumble around a yawn. “Lemme go for you.”

“No, you have that assignment to finish.” Bristol comes into the office and sits on the edge of the desk. “It was due two days ago, right?”

“Don’t remind me.” I scowl at my laptop and the assignment on criminal justice reform legislation. “The professor gave me an extension, but I’m on the verge of missing this deadline, too, if I don’t buckle down.”

“It’s been a lot the last few months.” She steps behind me and sinks her fingers into the muscles along my neck, the shoulders locked with tension. “School, working on your next album, all the stuff for Qwest’s single.”

“I had no idea that song would do what it’s doing.” I cover her hand with mine, running my finger along her tattoo and wedding ring. “You never know what people will respond to.”

“They always seem to respond to the two of you together,” Bristol says easily.

I poke around in the air, searching for agitation in Bristol’s statement. She’s possessive on the best of days, but with Qwest, it’s on another level. I’m pleased to report clear skies, from what I can tell.

“Well the video’s in the can, the single’s out, and the first round of performances is behind me,” I say. “Now I can focus on . . . everything else.”

Like the book of poetry I haven’t even started. I won’t mention that, because if Bristol says the words “brand expansion” again, I’m going through my eye with a selfie stick.

“You have knots in your neck,” Bristol whispers, slipping her tongue inside my ear. She knows what that does to me. She must be prepared to face the consequences. I reach around and snatch her off her feet and onto my lap.

“No!” She squeals and laughs, but doesn’t budge. “I told you I have to go to the drugstore.”

“And I told you,” I say, trailing kisses over her collarbone, “that I’ll go. I don’t want you out this late.”

“It’s only ten o’clock.”

I shrug and keep kissing the hollow at the base of her throat.

“I thought guys hated buying things like tampons,” she says, pausing significantly. “And pregnancy tests.”

“I’ll buy whatever the hell I . . .”

My voice evaporates as her words sink in, and I gulp down the hope that immediately springs up in my chest. I’ve been careful not to make Bristol feel any pressure. I meant every word I said—if we never had a kid, I’d be disappointed, heartbroken, but any man who’s not satisfied with Bristol alone doesn’t deserve her.

“Pregnancy tests?” I search her eyes, finding teasing and hope and trace amounts of fear.

“I’m late.”

“How late?”

“Three weeks.”

“Three . . .” I run my free hand over the back of my neck. She thought it was tight before; my neck’s a bowstring now. “Why’d you wait this long?”

“I dunno.” Bristol lifts and drops one shoulder. “I think I was scared to get excited. It could be stress making me late.”

Or you could be pregnant.

“But now I have to know.” She laughs nervously. “I’m going to the drugstore because I can’t sleep tonight until I know for sure. We can even go together if that makes you feel better.”

“I don’t think we’ll have to go at all actually.” I shift her off my lap and head out of the office, calling over my shoulder, “Gimme a sec.”

Maybe thirty seconds later, Bristol looks from my face to the items I laid out on the desk with wide eyes.

“You just happen to have a pregnancy test?” Bristol lifts one of them and an eyebrow. “Or six? When did you get these?”

“Um . . . March?” I pretend to have to think about it. “Yeah, March.”

“March, as in, our anniversary when I told you I was ready to have kids, March?” A knowing smile spreads across her face.

“I didn’t buy six pregnancy tests that day. That would be weird.”

“Right.”

“I bought one each month.”

“Which is even weirder.” She laughs. “But okay.”

“I know.” I can’t believe I’m embarrassed about this. “It was some kind of ritual or something. That first day of your period when you realized you weren’t pregnant, you would always be kind of . . .”

“Psychotic?”

“Your words, not mine.” Though . . . nailed it. “Maybe it was a hope thing, but I would go out and buy one of these. Don’t ask me why.”

I nod to them, a smile pressing through.

“But now we need them. I think ‘thank you, Grip’ is the phrase you’re looking for, and you’re welcome.”

“Well, no time like the present.” Bristol scoops up all six of the tests and heads for the bathroom.

I meet her there with a glass of water.

“I’m not thirsty, but thanks,” she says, pushing the door as if to close it.

I stick my foot in to stop her.

“That’s a lot of tests, and a lot of pee.” I slide fully into the bathroom, hand her the water, and hop onto the bathroom counter. “Drink up.”

Bristol circuits a glance from me to the door to the glass of water in her hand a few times.

“Get out.” She takes a few gulps of the water and narrows her eyes at me. “You aren’t watching me pee.”

“So, I can eat you out but I can’t watch you pee? That makes sense.”

“Get out,” she repeats, pointing to the door. “And give me some privacy to do my business.”

I blow out an exasperated breath, head for the bedroom, and hover outside the closed bathroom door. I’m being an idiot, I know it, but I can barely breathe I’m so excited. The possibility of this actually happening, of my DNA and her DNA making something unique to us has me tripping.

After an eternity . . . or ten minutes . . . the door opens, and Bristol gestures me inside the bathroom. She has all six tests lined up on the counter. I don’t even glance at them, but search her expression for the verdict. Her face is blank, downright miserly, it’s giving away so little.

“So?” I hop back up onto the counter, still not looking at the little pissy sticks. “What we got?”

Bristol leans one hip against the counter to face me.

“You bought the first test in March, right?” she asks instead of getting on with it.

“Yeah.” I give a jerky nod, hoping she doesn’t make me feel like even more of a sentimental pussy than I already do.

“Your March test says . . .” A grin, infinitesimal in width but huge in impact on my heartbeat, quirks her lips. “I’m pregnant.”

We stare at each other for a few seconds, the moment swelling with all the possibilities. It could be a fluke. The other tests could negate that one.

“Your April test says I’m pregnant, too,” she says. “And your May and June tests agree.”

She slides three more sticks to me. I glance down to see four tests confirming what I’m almost afraid to believe in various shades of pink and plus signs.

“Apparently, July and August concur.” She pushes the last two tests to join the others, six sticks all saying the same thing.

“You’re pregnant.” My smile feels like it’s spilling over the sides of my face. “It’s definite.”

“I’d like to have a doctor confirm,” she says as mischief, awe, and tenderness swirl in the look she gives me. “But six tests probably don’t lie.”

I was determined to show restraint until we knew for sure. If she wasn’t pregnant, if even half those tests read negative, I would have maintained some kind of reserve, but she’s right—six tests don’t lie, and my resolve goes to hell. I eliminate all the space between us and scoop her right up off her feet. Her legs lock behind me, and a peal of laughter slips free, echoing in the bathroom.

“Is that your bird laugh again?” I smile my way into a kiss against her lips.

“It seems to pop out when I’m happier than anyone has a right to be.” Her cheeks are as wet as my eyes, and she presses our foreheads together. “We’re having a baby, Grip. I can’t even tell you what I’m feeling right now.”

For once, I’m in the same boat. Words are my business, but the feeling taking over every part of me leaves me speechless.