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It should make me feel like a dick, but it doesn't. I can't say I'd care if it did.

Maybe that does make me a dick?

“How'd you sleep?” She wears dark shadows under her eyes, so I imagine it wasn't well.

“Fine,” she lies.

I catch the scent of her, like fresh peaches and warm vanilla spice as she slips around me to the fridge. She opens it, peering inside with a sigh that has her shoulders falling.

“We need groceries.”

Translation: she needs olives. When the woman isn’t eating an egg on toast slathered in jam, she’s eating it scrambled with sliced olives drizzled in olive juice. Or a grilled cheese loaded with sliced green olives. Or olives straight out of the jar.

It gives me the willies.

Pushing off the counter, I close the fridge door and ignore the way my heart stalls its beats in my chest when her brown eyes flick up to mine. Her lips part around a question I don’t give her time to voice.

“Let me take you for breakfast.”

Her brows raise, parted lips sliding into a hesitant smile. “You want to go for breakfast?”

“Why not?” I take another glug of my coffee. “We'll go baby shopping after. Make a day of it.” I watch her brain race over my proposal. “How's that sound?”

That hesitant smile spreads across her face. I fucking love it.

I love making this woman smile. I could do it every day for the rest of my life, and I don't think I'd ever grow bored. In fact, I think I'd just love it more. Love her more.

“I think that sounds great.”

“Great,” I agree, jutting my chin in the direction of the hall. “Go get ready.”

“Me?” Her thumb connects with her chest as her brows climb. An indignant scoff clings to her words as she demands, “What about you?”

“I'm gonna throw on a pair of jeans and a tee. I can be ready in five.”

She rolls her eyes as she harrumphs dramatically, but she walks her fine ass into the hall, and does what she's told.

I relax back into the counter, sipping my coffee around a low chuckle I know she hears.

Faye touches all the soft clothes, tiny onesies, little boots, and jackets. She sighs when she picks up the blankets, though. And her eyes go misty when she plucks a small stuffed elephant head sewn into a small square of soft blue and white fabric. Then those misty eyes go wide when she clocks the price tag on the car seats, the cribs, the mattresses that go inside the crib and the sheets that belong on it.

Finally, she looks at me, clutching the elephant head. “This is a lot.”

I chuckle around an easy grin. “It's a whole new person.”

Her lips tremble, but a wobbly smile appears. She's so beautiful, even when she’s terrified.

She’s absolutely terrified. Scared shitless.

Oddly, I’m not.

“I know we're bringing a whole new person home,” she snaps. I think she realizes she’s snapped at me, because her tone softens. “It's just that this very tiny person needs a lot of stuff.”

I reach for the elephant-head-blanket-thing she’s clutching and toss it into the cart. Her mouth opens like she’s going to protest spending frivolous money on whatever the thing is, when I cut her off, “The kid needs stuff. It’ll need stuff for the next eighteen-plus years.”

I don’t wait for her reply as I start down the aisle, leaving her where she stands, head spinning as she grapples not just with the cost of car seats and cribs, but the financial cost of caring for a small human from birth to eighteen and beyond.

She’s paralyzed by the number of things we need, and I understand that. This isn’t the first time I’ve walked down the baby aisle since finding out Faye was pregnant. It is my first time walking this aisle with her, however.