Becca

Three Months Later

North Street Bar is packed with diners, and not one of them is paying a single penny to eat or drink here tonight. It’s a practice run for the full menu and for the newly appointed waitstaff, bartenders, and kitchen guys.

In a lot of ways, North Street is my and Dax’s baby. Our firstborn. Sure, he and Barrett may have done most of the manual labor, but Dax and I were creating something new. Something that was us.

“I can’t tell if I’m nervous or excited,” I say, standing over a table of four with my hand wrapped around my middle. “How can you tell if they’re butterflies in your stomach or bats?”

“Bec.” Grace, the bawdy redhead who runs McGreevy’s, raises an eyebrow. “You’ve got this.”

“Yeah,” Davis agrees, looping an arm around his fiancée’s neck and kissing her cheek. “You learned from the best: Gracie.”

Grace and Davis are an odd couple at first blush, but since I’ve gotten to know her—and him too, since he rarely leaves her side—I’ve learned they’re perfect for each other. The other couple at the table is equally doomed to be together forever, but where Grace and Davis seem like an odd couple, Jackie and Vince go together like they were designed to. They’re full-color-catalog perfect.

His dark good looks and her girl-next-door charm are darling together. Plus, they’re really freaking cool.

“You’ll do great,” Jackie tells me. I’ve been on a few girls’ nights out with her and Grace. Jackie’s fun, but don’t give her liquor. She’s crazy when you get a shot of tequila in her. “Just picture everyone in their underwear.”

“Especially me,” Vince says, his blue eyes sparkling. He oozes charm and good humor.

“I’m not wearing underwear,” Dax says, approaching the table.

Grace slaps her hands over her eyes and Jackie covers her ears.

“Which one of you is ‘speak no evil’?” I poll the guys. “We have the other two covered.”

“Ready to do this, Princess?” Dax asks. Jackie and Grace coo over the nickname. He frowns down at them. “Shut up.”

“I think it’s sweet.” Grace purses her lips and makes a few kissy noises, and everyone at the table laughs.

“Gotta go,” I tell them. “Wish me luck.”

“Luck!” my new friends shout.

Dax links his hand in mine and leads me to the stage at the front of the restaurant. We decided North Street needed an open-mic night. The stage added a month to the construction, but we didn’t care. We wanted it to be right. Now it is.

Dax insisted that I should dance on some nights. I agreed. Like I’d pass up the chance to shake my groove thing at my own place?

I know, I know. You’re coming in late. I skipped about a million details. To bring you up to speed: North Street Bar is half mine. Well, it’s a fifty-fifty partnership with Dax. I couldn’t think of a better way to spend the bulk of my savings. I guess you could say he and I went all in all around.

I moved into his apartment and yeah, it’s a tight fit, but since Dax and I haven’t managed to pry ourselves apart yet, it works. We’re looking for a bigger place at the moment, but we still have time to find the right place.

After all, babies take nine months to grow, and I’m only ten weeks along.

Surprise!

Just . . . don’t tell Grace and Jackie yet. I have a feeling it’d break their hearts to know that when I attend GNO next weekend I’ll be doing so as the designated driver.

Onstage, Dax has no need for a microphone. He bellows, “Good evening,” and easily gains the room’s attention.

“Thanks for being at North Street’s soft opening,” he says.

The crowd claps. As do I.

“When Becca and I decided to do this together, everything became easier. Plus, guys. She can cook her face off.”

“Hell yeah!” Vince shouts, and Davis whistles his approval. They know. I’ve been feeding them since I moved here.

“As you know, the grand opening is tomorrow, but that’s not the only grand opening I have planned.”

I cock my head at him. That’s news to me. Did he buy another bar or something?

“Couldn’t think of a better time to do this,” Dax announces. “So here goes.”

The crowd goes silent as Dax drops to one knee in front of me. And ohmygawd, I feel faint.

Speaking low so only I can hear, he cracks open a velvet box and reveals a stunning diamond solitaire in a platinum band. It’s perfect. It’s a princess cut.

Swoon!

“Marry me, Princess?” he asks. Perfectly.

I’m such a cliché. My jaw drops. My hand rests on my collarbone. Tears flood my vision.

“Do it!” comes a shout that I’m pretty sure was Davis.

“Do it, Princess. I’m lost without you.” Dax lowers his voice even more to say, “Plus, my mom won’t freak out that we’re not married when we tell her about her first grandchild.”

I bend at the waist and kiss Dax, and the room erupts like it did at Grand Lark a few months ago, only this crowd is three times bigger. And three times more invested, since they’re Dax’s friends and coworkers.

“Get it!” comes a supportive shout. I’m certain that was Barrett, the bad boy of the NFL, turned bad boy sportscaster—because OMG did he get himself into trouble recently. . . .

What am I doing?! I don’t have time to tell you about that. I have to answer Dax.

“Yes!” I shout and, you guessed it, earn more applause. I’ve always wanted to be onstage earning this much praise . . . but this exceeds my biggest dreams of stardom.

Dax slides the ring onto my finger and chucks the empty velvet ring box into the crowd. Barrett, reflexes honed from his years of playing football, catches it.

He holds it in the air, triumphant, until his expression shifts with the realization that catching the ring box could mean he’s doomed to be the next one coupled off. That’d be an amazing tale, but pairing him with a sane woman is unlikely. Trust me on that one.

Dax stands and holds me close for a long kiss. I’m dizzy with joy when we part and he announces, “Let’s do this!”

We hop off the stage and dart in different directions, Dax to oversee the bar and me, the kitchen. We wink at each other from across the room as waitresses and waiters buzz between us on a mission to launch our new restaurant.

I take a second in the dim corridor between the bathrooms and the kitchen to admire the sparkle of my diamond in the weak light overhead. Then I rest my hand on my still-flat tummy and blink away more tears as my nose stings.

When this kid comes into the world, the first thing I’m telling her is that her father swept me off my feet at a time I wasn’t looking for anyone. I’ll tell her that it was her dad who encouraged me to chase my heart, while reminding my family that I was capable of anything. I’ll tell her that he came for me again and again and let me spread my wings wide, but never wide enough to leave him.

Unless this bundle ends up being a boy. And then I’ll mostly tell him about the flood and the Jeep campsite and how his dad once cut a massive downed tree with a chainsaw.

I take a step toward the kitchen and pause to look for Dax. He’s watching me while the bustling bar staff runs around like headless chickens. He gives me a tender smile that I return, even as I stand frozen in the middle of the melee of waitstaff running amok.

In the chaos we find each other. Eyes locked. Hearts beating in sync. That familiar string of longing and heat stretched out between us.

“Love you,” he mouths.

“Love you too,” I mouth back.

Now.

We’ll start building our future.