Page 175 of Clinically Delicious
“Cate?” I called, setting my briefcase down and stepping over a stuffed dinosaur.
No answer.
Just more shrieking from the living room as Megan emerged from behind the couch, wielding what looked like a pool noodle.
“The princess has a sword!” she announced dramatically.
“Not fair!” one of the twins protested.
“Life’s not fair, Henry!” she shot back.
“I not Henry. I’m Harrison!”
“You’re both Henry-Harrison to me!”
I left them to their battle and headed toward the kitchen, following the smell that had been teasing me since I walked in.
Something with garlic. And butter. And—Is that rosemary?
My stomach growled.
I found her exactly where I expected to: standing at the stove, one hand stirring something in a large pot, the other resting on her very pregnant belly.
Seven months along now. With our fourth child.
A girl this time, according to the ultrasound.
Cate had cried for twenty minutes when we found out, then immediately started planning the nursery, then cried again because she couldn’t decide between three different shades of lavender.
I’d learned to just hand her tissues and agree with whatever she decided.
She was humming something off-key, as always, and completely oblivious to the chaos happening fifteen feet away in the living room. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun, secured with what looked like a pencil. She was wearing one of my old surgical shirts, the ones I’d retired years ago, anda pair of leggings that had some kind of cartoon character on them.
She looked beautiful.
She looked perfect.
She looked like everything I never knew I needed.
“Hi,” I said.
She jumped, spinning around with the wooden spoon still in her hand.
“Oh my God, Gabriel!” She pressed her free hand to her chest. “You scared me! I didn’t hear you come in, which is ridiculous because the door is literally right there and also the children are screaming, so obviously I should have heardsomething, but I was thinking about whether I added enough salt to the risotto, and then I started wondering if we have enough parmesan because I could have sworn we had a full container, but then I remembered Harrison or maybe it was Henry was eating it straight out of the container yesterday, which is disgusting but also kind of impressive because that’s a lot of cheese for a toddler, and—”
I crossed the kitchen in three strides and kissed her.
She made a small sound of surprise, then melted into me, her free hand coming up to grip my shirt. When I pulled back, she was flushed and slightly breathless.
“Hi,” I said again.
“Hi,” she whispered back, her eyes soft.
From the living room came a crash, followed by Bark’s enthusiastic barking and Megan yelling, “IT’S FINE! EVERYTHING’S FINE! THE LAMP WAS UGLY ANYWAY!”
Cate winced. “I should probably...”
“They’re fine,” I said, my hand settling over hers on her belly. “What are you making?”
