I clutched the cold, immaculately polished porcelain in the bathroom of my Paris apartment. My stomach churned, despite having just thrown up the lone cracker I’d had for breakfast.

I pushed myself to standing, running the icy water in the sink over my hands and splashing my face. I didn’t know if it was the stress from the internship at the gallery, the food here in Paris, or some weird combination, but that was the third time I’d fell ill in two days. After a few deep breaths in an attempt to settle the sour mess that was my stomach, I opened my tiny medicine cabinet in search of some Pepto.

I paused in my frantic search when my fingers brushed across the top of my tampon box. I scrunched my eyes, mentally counting the days. Had I really not had a period since I’d gotten to Paris? How had I not noticed that?

A wave of nausea hit me again, and I leaned over the toilet just in time.

No way. It wasn’t possible. Was it?

The minute I felt solid enough to find out, I hurried to the corner shop near my complex and purchased a multi-pack of tests. My heart raced each step I took home, forcing me to be oblivious to the beautiful Parisian architecture I normally stopped to admire.

Back in my bathroom in less time than I could think of the odds, I quickly took the test, thankful the positive and negative readings were universal in any language. Waiting as the seconds ticked by, I tried to convince myself of how highly unlikely this was. My sickness and being late on a period could very well be stress induced. And what was more stressful than undergoing a massive breakup right before plunging head first into a foreign gallery internship? Not to mention saying goodbye to Lettie. Which had broken my heart completely. Our Skype sessions were the highlight of my week, but it wasn’t enough.

I thought about the email I’d received a few days ago, filling me with hope. The Seattle gallery I’d first applied to—and had been denied due to lack of space—had written to see if I was still interested, as they had a slot opening next month.

Three more weeks and I can go home.

It wasn’t that I didn’t adore the culture that made this city beautiful, inviting, and romantic, but my heart was in Seattle. Where Lettie was; where Gage was. Just thinking his name hurt, the absence of his voice, his touch, his smell had left a cold empty hole in my heart these past few weeks. I’d been a fool to think the gallery or Paris could fill it.

The timer went off on my phone and I stood up to look at the test.

My fingers shook as I grasped it in one hand and the box in the other, triple checking the pictures to make sure those two little pink lines meant what I thought they meant.

Excitement and fear and doubt encompassed my heart like a battle between heat and ice. I set the items down and rubbed the skin of my tummy underneath my shirt.

Could this happen?

Maybe the test was a mistake? False-positives happened all the time.

I decided to wait an hour and try again—during which I pulled out my cell and googled how common vasectomies reversed on their own. Turns out, it was pretty rare but did happen to tons of couples all over the world. The process was technical, but it came down to the body healing itself, and I’d never met anyone who had worked as hard as Gage to heal himself before—not that this was the part of his body he was trying to heal. Good God…what if it did?

Finally, after waiting what seemed like forever, I took another test. Thank goodness it was my day off. If I had made this discovery while at work? I wouldn’t be able to focus even a little bit.

I paced the small length of my bedroom while waiting for the test to work, my hand on my belly and my eyes on the three bags I already had packed and ready for when I returned home in a few weeks. When the Seattle gallery had emailed me, it had been a no-brainer, and I’d instantly started preparations to make it an easy transition back home. The Paris curator wasn’t even upset, as he had countless applicants in his database who were chomping at the bit for my position.

Three bells chimed from my phone, and I froze as I silenced the alarm. The odds of two false positives were more unlikely than Gage’ vasectomy reversing on its own. My throat went dry as I slowly made my way into the bathroom, and scooped up the test.

Tears coated my eyes.

Two pink lines.

Again.

Paired with my late period, and the unexplainable aversion I’d had to food lately, and it was clear. I was pregnant with Gage’s baby. Gage, who didn’t want to have another baby. Gage, who’d refused to entertain the thought, yet had stolen my heart regardless.

I held my stomach as I sank onto the closed toilet, rubbing the skin below my navel as I tried to think of a plan. How could I explain this to him? Would he even want it? Want us?

My heart tripled in size with the thought of us.

Me and you, baby. I laughed as tears ran down my cheeks, the vision of the baby I’d dreamed about popping behind my eyes. Gage’s smile, my eyes, his hair, Lettie’s attitude. Perfection. The one thing I’d wanted more in life than to work at a gallery.

I jolted when I heard someone pound on my door.

I rarely had visitors in the short time I’d been here, but my neighbor had taken it upon her sixty-year-old self to stop by once or twice a week asking if I’d taken the paper off her welcome mat. Honestly, I think she just wanted to have a conversation with another woman, so I always indulged whatever idle chitchat she had for me after we’d both concluded I hadn’t in fact thieved her morning paper.

“One second, Elise,” I called toward the door as the pounding continued. I quickly shut the bathroom door behind me. “I’m a little busy---“ my words died in my throat as I opened the front door.

Gage stood in my hallway, his hands pressed against the doorframe, his blue eyes wild. His black hair was mussed, his white thermal and jeans wrinkled like he’d just gotten off the plane and came straight here.

“Bailey,” he said my name like it was the first breath he’d taken in weeks.

I placed my hand on top of my belly, my heart racing. “Gage. What are you doing here?” I asked, completely shocked.

“May I come in?” He asked when I hadn’t moved from my stunned position.

“Of course,” I said, craning my neck outside the hallway, half expecting to see Lettie bounding up in her sparkly snow boots.

“She’s with my mom,” he said, stepping past me. His eyes darted around my apartment, noticing the luggage packed in the corner. “You still haven’t gotten around to unpacking everything yet?”

“No, I…” I let my hand fall off my belly, only now realized I’d still had it there. “Shouldn’t you be in Ontario?” I mentally pulled up the Shark’s schedule, almost one-hundred percent certain he should be in Canada and not here. That’s when my brain clicked into place, and I gasped, my hand over my mouth. “Oh, God. Did Helen fight the papers? Are you going to court? Do you need me there for Lettie?”

Gage closed the distance between us, his hands gently clutching my shoulders as he shook his head. “Breathe. We’re fine. Lettie is mine. Helen gave me the papers yesterday.”

A breath of air escaped me, and I used the moment to step out of his touch. “That’s a relief.”

“I came here for you,” he said, taking a step toward me where I had stepped back. “Bailey, I love you. And I’m sorry I didn’t chase you down the second you left me in your bed.”

I flinched, fastening an apologetic look to my face. I hadn’t wanted it to end like that. “I’m sorry I left like---“

“Don’t,” he cut me off. “I should’ve fought for you. Should’ve made you realized how important you are to me, to Lettie. You’re our family. And we want you back. I need you back.”

A new rush of tears spilled down my cheeks when he said the word family.

“Hey,” he said, reaching to brush the tears off my face. “I’m not asking you to choose between us and your internship. I’m done putting choices like that on you. We’ll come here if you want. I’ll finish out the season and won’t sign on for another one. We can be the family you’ve always wanted. I don’t care where we are, Bailey. If I’m with you, then I’ll be happy.”

I cried harder, pressing my head against his chest, letting him wrap his arms around me. “Gage,” I stuttered through my tears and sucked in a sharp breath to regain control over myself. I pushed back from him, locking with his beautiful blue eyes, my heart lurching at the thought of him leaving because of what I’d just learned. Of what he didn’t want. “I love you. I do. But there is something I have to tell you.”

He instantly backed away from me, his skin turning a shade of white that matched my walls. His eyes darted all over my body, then around my apartment, a crazed look in their center. “Fuck. Is there someone else, already?” He clenched his hands into fists and I quickly shook my head.

“No! Of course not,” I said, reaching for his hand.

He sighed and uncurled his fingers before entwining them in mine.

“Well, sort of,” I said and his eyes flew wide.

“Bailey. Talk faster.”

My heart raced and I forced myself to find some courage. “Look, I know you’re fixed,” I said and he went incredibly still beside me. “But I swear to God I didn’t cheat.” I tugged his statue-like form through my bathroom door and pointed to the two tests lying on the counter.

“The procedure reversed…” he scooped up one test, then the other.

“What?” I asked and he set the tests back down, his eyes on me.

“I made an appointment. To see what I’d have to do to get it reversed, so we could try someday. The doctor called and told me yesterday that it had healed itself.” Gage looked at my tummy, then back up at me, a smile shaping his full lips.

“So we fought for nothing?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said and we both chuckled. “We’re going to have a baby?” He asked me like he needed more assurance than the tests to make it real.

I slipped my hand over my stomach. “Yes. You’re going to be a father of two.”

Gage sank to his knees, timidly raising my shirt and placing his lips against the smooth skin of my stomach. I closed my eyes and sighed as he held my hips in his hands. “Hi baby,” he said, his lips grazing my skin. “Daddy loves you.”

Damn these tears. They wouldn’t stop coming. I swiped them away, fingering Gage’s hair to make him look up at me. “Are you sure?”

He slowly rose, planting kisses along every inch of my body until he made it to my mouth. “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life, Bailey. You’re my best friend, the one I want to wake up with, go to sleep with, make love to, fight with, and make up again. I was an idiot for ever thinking you would be anything like the women in my past and I’m sorry I pushed you to another fucking country.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “You’re it for me. And I’m willing to do anything…and I mean anything for you to understand that. If you’ll have me.”

I grinned at him, my heart swelling with his declaration as I glanced over my shoulder. “Those bags?” I motioned toward them. “They’re for my trip home in a few weeks.”

He tilted his head, his fingers rubbing up and down my arms.

“The Seattle gallery has a position opening up next month. I accepted it immediately. I’d left my heart there…with you, and Lettie.”

Gage crushed his lips on mine, parting them with his tongue. I sucked him into my mouth, sighing between his lips as he angled my head to kiss me more deeply. He tasted like home and the connection made me slick between my thighs.

He pulled back, his eyes a blue molten pool of lust. “Can we?”

I nodded, wrapping my arms around his neck. “God, please, Gage.”

He gently scooped me up and carried me to the full-sized bed that took up half the living room in my tiny apartment. He laid me down with the softest touch, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing his jeans and briefs on the other side of the room. My mouth watered at the sight of him, his carved abs, his broad chest—and he was mine, all mine.

He kissed me with an even lighter touch as he positioned himself between my thighs.

“We won’t break,” I said, locking my ankles around his hips, drawing his weight on top of me.

“We. I love the sound of that.” He lessened the weight, kissing my neck and trailing his fingertips along the skin of my legs. Carefully he pulled my shorts off, followed by my panties, and stroked me with a feather-light touch.

I writhed underneath him, begging for more pressure. “Gage,” I groaned.

“Bailey,” he answered, slipping two fingers inside me while pressing his thumb against my clit.

I bucked against his hand, meeting his kiss with a fierce ache building inside me.

“Easy,” he said, slowing my pace, drawing out the torture as he stopping his motions inside of me.

“It’s fine. I promise,” I assured him, knowing full well we could have sex and not hurt the baby.

He cocked an eyebrow at me, kissing down my breasts, over my tummy, until he reached my center. “Oh, I know it is. I just like feeling you coil beneath me.”

I bit my lip as he parted me with his fingers and dragged his tongue over my warmth. “Oh God,” I moaned, unable to stop the onslaught of pleasure rippling underneath my skin. My tightened muscles clicked tighter, his perfectly placed tongue pushing me to the edge.

“Fucking delicious,” he said before sucking my clit into his mouth.

I screamed, my orgasm rocketing through me like an explosion as I clenched around him. He brought me down slowly, stroking me with light touches again before he teased my hot, wet center with the tip of his cock.

“I love you, Bailey,” he said.

I could read it in his eyes, feel it in the way he moved, the way he touched me like I was precious to him. “I love you, Gage.”

He slowly entered me, his cock fitting perfectly inside me, the friction one decadent, toe-curling sensation. I arched my hips upward as he gently rocked in and out of me, working up my already over-sensitive flesh into an aching, tight, spring.

I dug my fingers into his back, holding on as we made love like it was our first time.

* * *

“You really don’t want to me to leave hockey behind and stay here?” Gage asked, his naked lower half covered by my single, thin sheet.

He had me tucked underneath his arm, and I trailed my fingers along his hard chest. “You look way too sexy in your uniform for me to want that, Gage.” I chuckled, the motion moving the leg I had wrapped around his hip, and suddenly I wanted to go for round three.

“Is that so?” He flipped me over, pinning my shoulders to the bed. “This isn’t sexy enough for you? You need the ice and the jerseys too?”

“Don’t forget the fights.”

“You hate it when I fight.” He nipped at the skin on my neck.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy watching it from time to time.” I pressed my breasts against his chest and he growled.

“Again? We just---“

“Don’t deny me. You can’t deny me anything for the next nine months.” I teased.

He grinned. “Understood. What does the lady require now?” He asked in a terrible Parisian accent.

“Honestly?”

“Always.”

“I want you to take me home.”

He laughed and glanced down where I ground against his hard cock. “Really? Now?”

I smiled. “After,” I said, angling so he slipped inside me, relishing the way his eyes rolled back in his head. “I miss our life. I miss our home. I miss our girl.”

He stopped anything more I would’ve said with his lips on mine, kissing me until I was breathless and bucking against him. “Agreed,” he groaned as I rolled my hips upward and down against him. “But first?”

“Mmmhmm?” I asked, unable to form a coherent thought.

“Let’s enjoy Paris for a couple more days.”

“Deal,” I sighed into his mouth.