Page 121 of The KING Review

Neve

Two Months Later

When I walk into our usual brunch spot with Grant and Sera, I know we look like a real family. Sera has her “meeting” folder—construction paper, stickers, several unidentifiable things glued to the cover, including but not limited to a pen lid, a smooth piece of sea glass, and a stick she found on her walk home from school. Grant’s hand is warm on the small of my back. I’m wearing a yellow dress that makes me feel like literal sunshine, but the way Grant watches me, eyes dark and greedy, I could be wearing a trash bag, and he’d still look at me like this.

Sera manages the agenda. Pancakes, fruit, and a negotiation about whipped cream that she wins decisively. Grant’s hopeless when she flashes dimples—inherited from him. He’s soft with her in ways that make me want to cry and climb him like a tree at the same time.

Probably hormones.

Sera lines up her pencil and her pancakes like she’s prepping for a TED Talk, and the first item on her agenda is syrup allocation. “I think it should go all the way to the edge,” she announces, squinting at Grant, then at me, like she’s open to counterarguments but will not be swayed. Her conviction is so adorable I nearly burst.

Grant surrenders immediately. “I trust your judgment, bug.” The way he’s looking at her makes my chest do that dumb, embarrassing squeeze. God, men who are good dads. It’s so unfair.

I lean in. “I like whipped cream mountains. What’s your stance?”

Sera pauses, considering. “It’s important for the whipped cream to be taller than the pancakes,” she says, measuring an imaginary stack with her tiny hands.

Grant laughs, loud and delighted. “You heard the boss. Mountains it is.”

She beams, and I melt.

I can’t believe it’s been two months of this. I can’t believe it’s been two months of it being easy, of not having to hide, of just being this. Us.

After brunch, we do the handoff in the parking lot. It’s never not awkward, but Grant and I always play it straight—a full-on masterclass in mature co-parenting, with Sera’s backpack zipped and her “meeting folder” transferred like the nuclear football.

Marie is in sunglasses and high heels like it’s a press conference, but she can’t camouflage the way her jaw flexes when Sera hugs me, planting a sloppy kiss on my cheek and chirping “love you, Neve!” or the way she flatlines at Grant’s easy, unbothered grin as he nudges his shoulder into mine when I straighten.

I almost feel bad for her. Almost. He’s happy, actually happy, and it’s fucking killing her.

We make it back to Grant’s apartment, quiet settling around us like a fresh coat of paint. He kicks off his shoes, rakes a hand through his hair. There’s a lightness to him that’s brand new—or it was brand new, two months ago. I’m obsessed with seeing it on him, though. I hope I never, ever get used to it.

Now’s the perfect time to tell him.

“Hey,” I say, stopping him with a hand on his chest. “Can I tell you something?”

He stills. “Of course, angel. You can tell me anything. You know that.”

I hesitate, and for one split second, panic flares in my chest. Maybe this is wrong. Maybe this is the moment everything unravels, and he looks at me with that careful, analytic detachment, and I’ll know I’ve fucked it all up. My hands shake. I press my palm harder to his chest, feeling his heartbeat under my fingertips.

I look up at him, and my voice comes out small. “I’m pregnant.”

The words detonate. For a second, Grant just stares at me, eyes wide, mouth open. Then he laughs—a sound so raw and bright it’s almost a sob, and he hauls me in, crushing me to his chest until I can’t breathe. He’s shaking. I’m shaking.

“Are you serious?” he whispers, voice gone almost as high as the sound that squeaks out of me. “Fuck, Neve.”

He buries his head in my hair, breathing me in. His hands slide down to my waist, palms splayed over the fabric of my sundress. I smirk when I feel the thickening length of him pressing against me through his jeans.

“You put it there.” I know the words will tip him right over the edge, but that’s kind of where I want him, anyway.

A groan vibrates in his chest. “Fuck.”

I grin, bright as a sunrise, and wind my arms around his neck, hauling him down for a kiss. “You like that?” I whisper. “You like knowing you knocked me up?”

His hands are everywhere at once, greedy and reverent. He palms my belly through the dress, big hands shaking. “God, yes. You’re perfect.”

I shiver, heart thundering. “Keep going.”

He pins me against the wall, mouth hot at my ear. “Fuck, baby girl. I need you. Now.”