I nodded. “I’m really pregnant.”

“Best day of my life, cupcake.”

I might’ve burst into tears if he didn’t say the next thing.

“And I’m gonna make it even better,” he growled, kissing me and carrying me upstairs.

* * *

We were lying in bed.

Rowan had already gone into ultra-protective, prospective dad, alpha mode. Therefore, when he was done fucking my brains out, he ordered me to stay put while he gently cleaned me then went downstairs to get me some dry toast since I told him I was feeling queasy.

He propped pillows, fussed over me, and Maggie was the same, jumping on the bed and laying her head protectively on my stomach.

But it was only after I got up to pee that I truly thought about being pregnant. I’d been so caught up in telling Rowan, I hadn’t thought about the reality of the situation.

“Oh my god,” I said as it hit me. “I’m going to be a terrible pregnant person. I’m going to be worrying constantly, thinking something is wrong, and my OBGYN is going to hate me.” I put my palm to my forehead, ready to spiral.

But Rowan was around, so he didn’t let me spiral. He always actively watched, preventing me from spiraling. He was the anxiety whisperer.

He grabbed my shoulders, steadying me, tethering me to the earth and stopping me from pacing around the room.

“First, there is nothing on this planet you can be terrible at,” he told me firmly. “Except parallel parking. You are terrible at that.”

I scowled at him, even though I was fighting a smile.

He rubbed my upper arms. “Cupcake, you need more appointments to check on our baby, we’ll make more appointments. If your OBGYN gets pissed, we’ll find another one.”

He said these things like they were very reasonable, logical things. He made plans around my senseless anxiety. Because that’s what he did.

“I love you,” I whispered, my eyes brimming with tears.

“And I love you, cupcake,” he beamed at me, leaning forward to brush his lips with mine.

* * *

Rowan was right, I wasn’t terrible at being pregnant. I wasn’t entirely great either. But I didn’t think anyone was actually great at being pregnant. Those women who worked out right up until their due dates, who didn’t worry about a thing and didn’t get fat ankles—I was positive they didn’t exist. Or at least I convinced myself that they didn’t exist.

Because I didn’t work out right until my due date. Granted, I wasn’t exactly known for working out. But I did work at the bakery right up until my water broke on the kitchen floor of the bakery. Like the movie scene water-breaking type thing. Rowan was right there because he was always right there with me first thing in the morning. He’d practically moved into the bakery when I got closer and closer to my due date.