Page 69 of Afterglow

I’m stunned into silence, and so it seems is Bryce. We stare at the screen and then slowly look at each other, matching grins spreading on our faces.

I really had no preference, girl or boy, but with two sisters, I think I was secretly hoping it was a girl. I pictured a girl when I thought of late-night feedings and couch snuggles, but somehow I’m equally surprised and elated. I’m going to be a girl mom. I can dress her up like my mom did with me and my sisters. We can match and play with dolls and her aunts will spoil her rotten.

I don’t realize I’m crying until Bryce’s thumb catches a tear on my cheek, and then I realize there’s a track of wet tears to his beard as well.

“A girl,” he says, with so much reverence it’s like he never could’ve imagined such a thing.

“A girl,” I say back with a nod, and something between us clicks, like a tether snapping into place. When I lift my head an inch, he closes the distance and his lips meet mine. It’s soft and sweet, but meaningful in a way I’m afraid to examine.

He’s reluctant when he pulls back, like his lips have no desire to part from mine—I understand the feeling. I can’t look away, getting lost in dark eyes—eyes that have so much emotion swirling inside them. I barely even notice when Callie wipes the gel from my stomach, or when she says we can take our time, or when she quietly leaves the room.

It’s only me and Bryce and an image of our baby girl on the screen. Life has narrowed to this pinpoint, to this moment, to our family.

His hand is warm against my stomach and achingly gentle. We both look at the place where it rests and his words are filled with awe when he says, “Our girl.”

His. Mine. Ours.

“Ours,” I whisper.

Then I press onto one elbow and reach for his face, letting my thumb coast over the tearstained cheek. And I kiss him again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Bryce

Twenty-Two Weeks ~ Baby is the size of a papaya

Icheck my reflection in the glass door of Leanne’s parents’ house before reaching for the doorbell. My beard is trimmed and my hair is styled. I put on a button-down shirt—one that’s not flannel—and the only pair of dress pants I own for this occasion, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt more nervous.

It’s stupid because I’ve met everyone before, and they were nothing but welcoming. Christmas dinner with the mother of my child’s family hits different though, and I want to make a good impression. I didn’t have to do the impress the family stuff with Sarah—there was never any fear of not being accepted. I want to be accepted here though, and I want it to be more than as our baby girl’s father.

Ever since the ultrasound where we found out we’re having a girl, when we kissed, all I can think about is how badly I want more with Leanne. I don’t want to just be a partner—a friend—I want to be her partner, her best friend, her confidant… her lover.

I want more.

Sometimes it feels like maybe she wants that too, but she’s holding back… Like she’s afraid of what allowing me all the way in might mean. So, I’ll wait and show up—like I’m doing right now—and hope she sees I’m not going anywhere.

I compress the doorbell with my index finger and blow out a breath, trying to let go of the nerves so I can just be me, be present, and show Leanne and her whole family that I’m in this.

The door swings open and Leanne’s mother stands there with a wide smile on her face, her dark green sweatshirt pushed up at the sleeves. I nearly swallow my tongue when I read it. It has lines of Christmas trees with the words I like them real thick and sprucey printed on it. Wow… It’s the only word my brain supplies me with, but I manage to tamp it down before it can escape my mouth.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Kole.” My voice nearly cracks with the effort of keeping my thoughts on her sweater to myself.

“Merry Christmas, Bryce. And I’ve already told you, call me Kimberly,” she says as I step over the threshold, as if she isn’t wearing a sweater dripping in innuendo. Then I’m in her arms as she pulls me into a welcoming embrace. “Had a good day so far?” she asks.

I shrug my coat off and hang it on the rack by the door. “It’s been wonderful.”

I spent the morning with Becca, Delia, and Alex in the same manner I’ve enjoyed Christmas for nearly twenty-five years. Becca and I stay up at the big house, and we all wake up in matching pajamas. Delia at least picks something flannel so I don’t end up in reindeer print or something else truly heinous. Then we open presents around the tree, followed by a big breakfast that always lasts me until dinner.

Usually I’d have dinner with them too, but it’s a more casual affair of leftovers from the night before since we do our big dinner on Christmas Eve. This is the first Christmas night I haven’t spent with them since I was a teen, and it feels a little odd, but also right.

Walking into the kitchen, I can smell the ham cooking in the oven and the pine of the tree in the corner. But I stop dead at the sight in front of me—the whole family gathered around the kitchen island, all in equally inappropriate Christmas sweaters and wide wicked smiles.

Am I being pranked right now?

I nearly choke when my gaze finally lands on Leanne. Her sweatshirt says I jingled his bells and now I’m pregnant with a screen-printed silhouette of a man in a Santa hat who looks suspiciously like me.

I scrub a hand over my beard and attempt to find words, but before I can, the entire room bursts out laughing. Heat rises in my cheeks as I glance again at Leanne and the apologetic smile she has plastered on.