“I’m tired,” she murmurs against my shoulder.
“Time for a nap,” I declare. Still holding her, I get to my feet.
“But my work,” she protests feebly.
“It’ll be here when you wake up.” I lay her gently on the bed, shuck my jeans and climb into bed next to her.
“You hate taking naps,” she says as she curls into my side.
“I love you.” I pet her hair.
“I don’t know why I tire so easily these days.”
“You don’t?” And then I remember she had a trash-ass mother who probably didn’t teach her a single stupid thing. “Baby, I think it’s because you might be resting for two these days.”
Her head jerks back. “What makes you think that?”
“Your breasts are bigger and more sensitive. You get tuckered out early in the day. You want raspberries inside your cream-filled donuts.”
“I liked raspberries before, though.” She furrows her brow before dipping her hand down to her belly. “I do feel full here. Should I take a pregnancy test?”
“If you want.” But I already know the answer. She’s carrying our kid. A bone-deep satisfaction fills my soul. Like I thought before, life is so fucking good.