Chapter 2: The Belly Grows
Rosie surfaced from sleep in stages, each one bringing a new weight. Her breasts first, a heaviness that pulled at her shoulders. Then her belly, a taut sphere that pressed against the mattress. She opened her eyes and looked down at herself.
The bump was impossible. It rose like a dome beneath the rumpled camisole, skin stretched glossy at the crown. Three months, maybe more. Her breath caught.
"You're awake."
Kyle knelt on the floor beside the bed, elbows resting on the edge, his face level with her stomach. His eyes moved over her with that same hungry reverence, but deeper now, almost worshipful. He'd been watching her sleep. She could see the pattern of his breathing, slow and controlled, like a man trying to keep himself in check.
"Kyle," she whispered. "How long was I out?"
"Four hours. Maybe five." His hands came to her belly, fingers spreading wide over the curve. The warmth of his palms soaked through the cotton. "It grew again. I watched it. You were lying there and I could see it moving, swelling, like something was... filling you up."
Rosie pushed herself up on her elbows. The shift made her breasts sway, heavy and full, and she felt a dull ache radiate through them. The locket against her collarbone felt cold. "That's not possible."
"Come here." He leaned forward, pressing his ear to her belly. The rough wool of his sweater brushed her skin and she shivered. His breath came through the fabric, warm and steady. "There. Listen. Can you hear it?"
She held still. Through the taut skin, beneath the quiet gurgle of her own body, there it was. A heartbeat. Not her own, too fast for that. A rapid, bird-like flutter, insistent and alive.
"That's impossible," she said again, but her voice cracked.
"Nothing about this is impossible." Kyle lifted his head and looked at her. His eyes were dark, half-lidded, the pupils blown wide. "That's our baby, Rosie. It's working. Everything we did, everything I put in you, it's all becoming something real."
His hands traced the curve of her belly, following the seam where her skin had stretched. He was trembling, she realized. His fingers shook as they mapped the new landscape of her body.
"Can you feel her?" Rosie asked.
"Him. Or her. Whatever it is." He dropped his mouth to her navel, kissing the stretched skin. "I can feel movement. Like a little fish in there. Swimming."
The heat came from nowhere. One moment she was bone-tired, overwhelmed by the impossible weight of her own body. The next, her hips tilted of their own accord. A slow pulse between her thighs, thick and insistent.
Kyle noticed. Of course he noticed. His hands slid from her belly down to her hips, gripping the curve of her pelvis.
"Rosie." His voice was rough. "You're wet. I can smell you from here."
She didn't answer. She just spread her legs, thighs falling apart on the mattress, the camisole riding up to bare the soft swell of her mound. The air was cool on her skin but she burned.
He moved up her body, dragging his mouth across her stomach, pausing at the underside of her breast. He groaned against the skin, hands cupping the heavy weight. They'd grown again in those few hours. They were impossibly full now, straining against the thin cotton of her camisole, the nipples dark and prominent.
"God," he breathed. "You're so beautiful like this. So full. So fucking ripe."
He pulled the camisole down, and the breasts spilled out. Heavy, round, tipped with dark areolae. He took one in his mouth immediately, sucking hard, and Rosie gasped as the sensation shot straight to her core. Her milk let down in a sudden, surprising flood, and Kyle swallowed, then pulled back, eyes wide.
"Holy fuck," he said. "You're making milk."
"I didn't know. I didn't know it happened that fast." Rosie looked down at the glistening nipple, a thin white bead forming at the tip. The vulnerability should have embarrassed her. Instead it made her hotter.
He licked the bead away, moaning at the taste. Then he was moving again, down her body, past the swell of her belly, pushing her thighs wide. He looked up at her with that wild, worshipful gaze.
"I need to taste you," he said. "I need to feel how ready you are."
He buried his face between her thighs. His tongue found her clit and she cried out, one hand fisting in his hair. He ate her like a starving man, slurping and sucking, groaning against her flesh. The sensation built fast, made sharper by the aching fullness of her breasts, the heavy drag of her belly against her thighs.
"Kyle," she panted. "Oh god, Kyle, I'm close."
He worked her faster, two fingers sliding inside her, curling against that spot that made her see white. She came with a sob, thighs clamping around his head, the orgasm rippling through her again and again.
He crawled back up her body, leaving a wet trail across her belly. His cock pressed against her thigh, hard and slick with his own need.
"Do you want this?" Rosie asked, reaching down to wrap her fingers around him. "Do you want to do it again?"
"You have to ask?" He lowered himself over her, supporting his weight on his arms, careful not to crush her belly. "I want to fill you up until you're so pregnant you can barely move. I want to watch you swell with my seed, week after week. I want to feel you carry our baby, feel it grow inside you."
He pushed inside her. They both gasped. The stretch was perfect, the fullness undeniable. He moved slowly, almost reverently, grinding deep with each thrust.
"Fuck," Rosie breathed. "Fuck, Kyle, right there. Right there."
Her belly pressed against his. He looked down at where they joined, at the slick sheen of her opening stretched around him, at the swell of her abdomen moving with each stroke.
"I can feel it," he said, voice breaking. "I can feel her moving inside you while I'm inside you."
"Don't stop." Rosie clawed at his back, legs wrapping around his hips. "Don't you dare stop."
He drove into her harder, faster, the bed groaning beneath them. Her breasts bounced with each thrust, and he bent to take one in his mouth, suckling as he fucked her. The double sensation tipped her over the edge. She came again, body shuddering, and he followed her with a guttural groan, pumping into her, filling her up.
They collapsed together, Kyle careful to keep his weight off her belly. He rolled to the side, pulling her against his chest, his hand resting on the swell of her stomach.
Rosie looked down at the bump. Already, impossibly, she was sure it looked larger. More defined. More real.
"That was incredible," she whispered.
Kyle's hand traced the curve, feeling for movement. He hummed, content, the sound vibrating against her back.
"Every time," he said. "Every time I put my seed in you, I swear I can feel it take hold. Feel it grow."
Rosie closed her eyes. She should be terrified. She should be questioning how any of this was possible. Instead she felt only a profound, bone-deep satisfaction. A purpose that had been missing her whole life.
"Again," she heard herself say. "Do it again."
Kyle went still behind her. Then his hand slid down her belly, fingers finding her wet and swollen. He turned her onto her side, careful with her bump, and slid into her from behind.
"Yes," she moaned. "God, yes."
He fucked her slow, deep, one hand gripping her breast, the other braced on the headboard. Her belly rested against the mattress, and she could feel the baby moving inside her, fluttering against the rhythm of his thrusts.
"Fuck me," she begged. "Fuck me harder. Make me so pregnant I can't walk."
He obliged, snapping his hips against her, the lewd sound of their joining filling the loft. He came with a shout, and she felt the heat of him inside her, a rush that made her belly pulse.
And even as they lay there, panting, Kyle's hand moving in slow circles over her stomach, she could swear she felt it. The subtle shift. The inexorable swell. The future taking root inside her.
"Its working," Kyle whispered, wonder in his voice. "My god, Rosie. It's really working."
The afterglow was still warm on her skin when the weight became too much. Her bladder pressed like a fist against the base of her belly, insistent and urgent. She had to move.
Kyle's arm tightened around her waist. "Where are you going?"
"Bathroom." She pushed herself up on one elbow. The shift of her belly caught her off guard. It rolled forward, heavy and dense, throwing her off balance. She grabbed the headboard with both hands and hauled herself upright.
"Let me help you."
"I'm fine. I just need a minute."
But the walk to the bathroom made a liar of her. Her hips rocked side to side, her legs bowing outward to accommodate the width of her lower body. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the sink and froze.
The woman staring back was not the woman who had gone to sleep. The bare swell in her belly rose from her pelvis like a dome, and her breasts hung heavy and low, the weight of them visible even in profile. She was six months pregnant, easy. The kind of pregnancy that made strangers offer their seats on the bus. The kind that made waddling the only gait available.
"God," she breathed.
Kyle appeared in the doorway behind her, still naked, his cock soft and satisfied against his thigh. He moved to stand behind her, hands settling on her shoulders.
"Look at you." His voice was reverent, almost broken. "My beautiful, pregnant Rosie."
She stared at her reflection. The locket rested between her collarbones, the only unchanged thing about her. Her face looked thinner somehow, as if the pregnancy was drawing all her fullness downward into the heavy curve of her belly. The areolae had darkened to a deep rose, and milk beaded at the tips of her nipples.
"I look six months pregnant," she said.
"You look perfect."
The baby rolled inside her. She felt it as a slow wave, a pressure that moved from one hip to the other, and she saw her belly shift in the mirror. Kyle saw it too. His hands flew to her waist, spanning the curve.
"There he is. I saw him move."
"How can he be that big already?" She turned to face him, and the weight of her belly pressed against his hips. It was warm and solid, and she could feel every flutter of movement through the skin of her own stomach. "It's been nine days. Nine days since we got trapped."
Kyle's jaw set. He had that stubborn look, the one he wore when he insisted the woodpile was stacked right or the generator would last another month. "Time doesn't matter here. The avalanche cut us off from the rest of the world. Maybe that cut us off from how things normally move, too."
"That's not how biology works."
"Rosie." He cupped her face in his hands. "Your body is doing something I've never seen. You're growing our baby at a rate that should be impossible. Don't you think that means something? Don't you think it's exactly what we need?"
She wanted to argue. The rational part of her, the part that had painted and planned and run from the noise of the city, screamed that this was impossible. But the animal part of her, the part that felt her milk let down at the thought of his mouth, the part that felt her empty womb clench with need whenever he came near, that part won.
"I need to pee," she said again.
He helped her to the bathroom. He hovered at the door while she lowered herself onto the toilet, and she had to spread her knees wide to make room for her belly. The weight of it made her waddle even across the short distance, and she felt a laugh bubble up despite herself.
"What's funny?" Kyle asked.
"I look like a duck." She wiped, and she had to reach around the swell to do it. Her balance shifted and she braced one hand on the vanity. "A very pregnant duck."
"An incredibly sexy duck." He knelt in front of her, hands on her knees, face level with her belly. "A duck I want to keep permanently pregnant."
The thought sent a pulse of heat through her. She looked down at him over the swell of her stomach, and the position felt primal. A cave, a fire, a man kneeling at the door of the womb.
"Come here," she said.
He moved before she finished the words. His hands cupped her heavy breasts, and he took one nipple in his mouth. Milk spilled out, warm and sweet, and he drank greedily. She leaned back against the vanity, letting her thighs fall apart.
"Go slow," she whispered. "I'm so full."
He slid a hand down her belly, and even that touch made her pulse. She was swollen and sensitive everywhere now. His fingers found her wet and slick.
"You want me again?" he asked, pulling back from her breast. "After everything we already did?"
"I always want you. I don't think I'll ever stop wanting you."
He stood and lifted her off the toilet. She felt weightless in his arms despite her size, and her belly pressed against his, a warm, solid beat. He carried her to the bed, laid her down with exaggerated care, and settled between her thighs.
The baby kicked hard as he pressed inside her. They both gasped.
"He knows," Kyle murmured, thrusting slow and deep. "He knows his father is here."
Rosie arched her back, her hands fisting in the sheets. Her belly rose like a hill, and Kyle bent forward to kiss the crown of it even as he fucked her. The stretch of him felt different now, the full weight of her pregnancy pressing down on her cervix.
"I want to feel him grow," he whispered against her skin. "I want to feel every inch of him inside you."
She came fast, her body clenching around him, the weight of her belly adding pressure she couldn't have imagined. Kyle followed, filling her again, and she felt the heat of his seed flooding deep.
Afterward, she looked down at her stomach. There was no question now. It was larger even than it had been an hour ago. The skin was tight and glossy, and she could see the outline of a movement ripple across the surface.
"You'll make us a family," Kyle said, his hand tracing the curve of her belly. "Just you, me, and our baby. And then another one after that. And then another."
Rosie closed her eyes. The waddle to the bathroom would be worse tomorrow. The milk would be heavier, the belly fuller. She should have been terrified. Instead she nestled deeper into his arms, her hand resting on the swell, feeling the tiny heart beating beneath her palm.
"When will you think I'm too pregnant to fuck?" she asked.
He laughed low in his throat. "Never."
Kyle's hands didn't stop. They moved over her like he was learning a new language, tracing the stretch marks that fanned across her hips like pale rivers. His thumbs pressed into the small of her back, finding the new curve where her spine had arched to carry the weight.
"Lie on your side," he said.
Rosie rolled over, the belly settling against the mattress. Kyle knelt behind her, and his hands began at her shoulders. He slid them down her arms, over the swell of her biceps, down to her wrists. Then back up, palms flat against her ribs, counting each one with his fingertips.
"Your ribs are spreading," he murmured. "I can feel them. The space you're making."
His hands came to rest on her belly. They spanned the curve from hip to hip, thumbs meeting at the center. The skin was hot, stretched taut as a drum. He pressed gently, then harder, feeling the dense weight beneath.
"There he is." Kyle's voice went low, almost a growl. "Hip against my left palm. I can feel his back, the curve of his spine."
"Kyle." Rosie's voice was thin. "He's that big already?"
"Bigger than he was this morning." He traced a slow circle around her navel, which had popped outward, a small button pushing against her camisole. "The way you're growing, I don't think we have months left. I think we have weeks. Maybe less."
The thought should have terrified her. Instead the baby kicked, a sharp jab against Kyle's hand, and Rosie gasped. He laughed, soft and amazed.
"He knows my voice. He knows my hands." Kyle leaned down and pressed his mouth to the side of her belly. "Hey in there. I'm your father. I'm the one who put you there."
He worked his way down, kissing the stretched skin, the glossy crown of her bump. His hands explored the underside of her belly, cupping the heavy weight like it was made of glass. She could feel the pulse of her own blood through the thin skin, the deep ache of ligaments stretching to accommodate the impossibility inside her.
When his mouth reached her hip, he paused. His tongue traced the jut of bone, the soft sweep of flesh that had thickened there. Her hips had widened, her pelvis preparing for what was coming. He gripped them with both hands, kneading the new flesh.
"These," he said, pressing his thumbs into the curve. "These are for carrying. For spreading wide and letting our baby out."
"I know." Rosie's voice broke. "I can feel it. Everything's changing."
"Everything's perfect." He turned her onto her back again, careful with the weight of her belly. "Let me see you."
He stood at the foot of the bed. The firelight painted her in gold and shadow. Her breasts lay heavy on her chest, the nipples dark and leaking. Her belly rose like a hill, the skin gleaming. Between her thighs, the soft flesh was swollen and slick.
"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he said.
He crawled back up the bed, settling between her legs. His hands cupped her breasts, squeezing gently. Milk beaded and dripped down her ribs. He gathered it on his fingers and brought it to her mouth.
"Taste yourself," he said.
She opened her lips and took his fingers, sucking the sweet milk from them. Her eyes stayed on his. The baby rolled inside her, a slow, heavy shift that made her entire belly lurch.
"Do you feel that?" she whispered. "He's turning."
Kyle pressed his ear to her stomach. His hands slid beneath the weight of her belly, cradling it from underneath. She felt the pressure of his skull against her navel, the rough scrape of his jaw against the stretched skin.
"I hear him," he said. "His heart. And something else. Like he's moving. Like he's making room."
"Make room for what?"
"For the next one." Kyle's hands left her belly and found her thighs, spreading them wide. "We're going to fill you up again, Rosie. Before he's even born, we're going to put his brother or sister in there too. Right beside him."
She couldn't find words. The heat was everywhere, a furnace in her bones. Her body was no longer hers. It was a vessel, a garden, a home.
"Please," she finally managed.
Kyle lowered his mouth to her breast, suckling hard as his cock pressed against her wet opening. The baby kicked twice, sharp and insistent, and Kyle groaned against her flesh.
"He approves," he said.
He pushed inside her in one slow stroke. The fullness was absolute. Her belly pressed against his, and she felt the baby move between them, a frantic fluttering against the thick wall of her uterus.
"Don't stop," she begged. "Don't ever stop."
He fucked her deep and slow, his hands never leaving her body. One cupped her breast, the other braced beneath her belly, lifting the weight. The room filled with the sounds of them: the wet slap of his hips, her sharp cries, the crackle of the fire.
"Keep your eyes open," he said. "Watch my face when I fill you."
She did. And when he came, his face contorted, holding nothing back, she felt the hot flood of him inside her, deep against her cervix. The baby thrashed, a violent wave of movement, and Rosie screamed as her own orgasm tore through her, clenching around him and dragging him deeper.
They lay there, tangled and breathing hard. Kyle's hand found her belly again, mapping its new contours. Already he could feel the subtle shift, the swelling that followed every time he spilled himself inside her.
"You're growing faster now," he said. "Every time. It's accelerating."
Rosie looked down at her stomach. The skin was tighter. The shape was no longer a neat dome. It hung forward, heavy and low, pulling her whole body forward.
"How far along do I look?" she asked.
Kyle traced the shadow beneath her bump. "Seven months. Maybe eight."
"Kyle." She grasped his wrist. "It's been nine days."
"Then we're nine days into a miracle." He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm. "And every time I touch you, it gets bigger. Every time I fill you, it gets stronger."
Rosie shifted against Kyle's chest, the weight of her belly pulling her into wakefulness. The air had changed. It was warmer, softer, carrying a dampness that hadn't been there before.
She listened. Wind, but not the sharp howl of the past week. This was a steady rush, a warm breath against the window glass.
"Kyle." She shook his shoulder. "Do you feel that?"
He stirred, blinking against the morning light. Then he went still, his hand leaving her belly to sit up.
"Chinook," he said. "Warm wind coming over the mountains."
They dressed in silence. Rosie's winter clothes were a different kind of struggle now. The heavy down jacket that had fit loose a week ago pulled across her shoulders, and the zipper only came halfway up over the swell of her belly. She left the bottom open, the soft fleece panel of her pants stretching over her hips.
Kyle watched her from the bed, his eyes moving over her with that deep, possessive heat. She felt his gaze like a hand on her skin.
"The roof," she said. "The snowmelt could be pooling. If there's a leak we'll have a mess before nightfall."
"I'll check the gutters," he said. "You stay—"
"No." She pulled a knit hat over her ears. "I need to move. I need to see what the avalanche did."
The door opened onto a changed world. The snow had receded overnight, leaving a slushy, glittering crust that bore the weight of her boots. Water ran in rivulets off the roof, and the trees had shed their heavy cloaks, standing dark and wet and bare.
The air smelled of pine and earth and thaw. Rosie stepped out onto the porch and the sun hit her face, bright and warm, and for a moment she just stood there, soaking it in.
Kyle came up behind her, his boots crunching through the melting crust. She started toward the corner of the cabin where the avalanche had piled the deepest drift, and she felt his eyes on her the whole way.
Her waddle was pronounced now. There was no hiding it. Her hips rolled side to side, the weight of her belly swinging forward with each step, forcing her legs into a wide, deliberate gait. She had to stop twice to catch her breath, her hands pressed against the small of her back.
"Rosie." Kyle's voice came from behind her, low and amused. "You're swinging your hips like you're trying to hypnotize me."
"Like a duck," she said, not turning. "You said I was a sexy duck."
"Sexiest duck in the mountains."
She reached the corner of the cabin and crouched, grunting at the strain, to inspect the foundation. The logs were solid. The avalanche had piled against them but the weight was supported, no cracks she could see. She pushed herself upright, one hand braced on the wall, and made her way to the back of the cabin.
The woodpile was buried under a foot of slush. She kicked at it, testing the depth, and found the tarp intact. The generator shed had taken a glancing blow from a falling branch, but the door still opened, the fuel tank full.
She was halfway back when the baby kicked, hard, a sharp jab against her bladder. She stopped, gasping, and Kyle was at her side in an instant.
"Are you okay?"
"He just kicked." She pressed a hand to the side of her belly, feeling the movement ripple. "Right into my bladder. Wanted me to know he's there."
Kyle's hand joined hers, his palm spread wide over the curve. The jacket was open over her stomach and the warmth of his calloused fingers seeped through the fleece.
"He's getting stronger," he said. "Bigger. Mr. Nine Days, already making his presence known."
A sound cut through the morning. Faint at first, then growing. A low, steady hum that wasn't wind, wasn't water, wasn't anything natural.
Rosie froze. Kyle's hand tightened on her belly.
"Kyle." She looked up at him, shielding her eyes against the sun. "What is that?"
He listened, his jaw set. The hum grew into a drone, a distant roar building over the mountains.
"That's a plane," he said slowly.
It was. She could see it now, a silver speck crawling across the pale blue sky, a contrail streaming behind it like a pale scar. It banked slightly, and she knew, with a cold certainty, that it was circling. That someone had seen the cabin. That someone was looking for survivors.
The baby kicked again, harder this time. Kyle's hand went to her belly instinctively, pressing down as if to quiet the movement.
"Stay there," Rosie whispered. "Please."
But the plane kept circling, and the water kept running off the roof, and somewhere out there, the world was waking up and coming to find them.
The plane was closer now, the drone of its engines rattling the loose windowpanes. It dipped lower, and Rosie could see the dark shape of its wings. She watched it bank toward them, and the cold seeped through her open jacket, raising goosebumps along her arms.
"We should go inside," she said.
Kyle didn't move. His hand stayed on her belly, and she felt his thumb trace a slow circle over the fleece. He was staring at the plane with a flat, calculating gaze.
"It's probably search and rescue," he said. "They'll circle a few times, see the cabin, try to land somewhere nearby."
"What do we do if they land?"
He looked down at her then. The weight of his gaze settled over her like a blanket, heavy and warm. "We talk to them. We tell them we're fine. We thank them for their time."
The baby kicked again, sharper. Rosie gasped and braced her hands on Kyle's shoulders. He caught her by the elbow, steadying her.
"He likes the sound of rescue," Kyle said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Or he doesn't. Hard to tell."
The plane completed another pass, lower still. Rosie could make out the shape of it now, a small bush plane with skis. It veered toward the meadow at the base of the ridge, then pulled up short, climbing back into the sky. The engines faded, the drone receding until it was just a mosquito sound, then nothing.
"They're not landing," Kyle said. "The snowmelt's too soft."
Rosie let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. The silence rushed back, heavier than before. The sun was bright but the air was cold, and she felt the chill seep down through the open flap of her jacket.
"Come on." Kyle turned her toward the cabin. "Let's warm up before you turn into an icicle."
The kitchen was dim after the glare of the snow. The wood stove glowed orange in the corner, and the warmth hit her like a wall. She shuffled to the table and lowered herself into a chair, grunting as the belly settled against her thighs. The weight of her own body made her breath catch.
Kyle moved around her, filling the kettle, setting it on the stove. He worked without speaking, his movements sure and practiced. She watched him from beneath her lashes, the broad set of his shoulders, the way the muscles moved beneath the wool of his sweater.
"What do we do if they come back?" she asked.
He didn't look at her. He reached into the cupboard and pulled down two mugs, setting them on the counter. "We talk to them. We tell them we're fine, we don't need evacuation."
"What if they insist?"
He turned then, his eyes finding hers. "Then we insist right back." He crossed to the table and knelt in front of her, his hands settling on her knees. "Rosie, I know you're scared. But we're safe here. We have food, water, heat. And we have each other. Nothing out there can offer us more than that."
She looked down at his hands. The calluses, the cracked knuckles, the way his fingers wrapped around her knees like he was anchoring himself to her. She thought about the plane circling, the people in it, the world they represented. A world of hospitals and due dates and questions she didn't know how to answer.
"I don't want them to take me away from you," she said quietly.
"They can't." He squeezed her knees. "No one's taking you anywhere."
The kettle began to whistle. He rose, moving to the stove, and she watched him pour the steaming water into the mugs. The smell of coffee filled the cabin, rich and grounding.
He set a mug in front of her and sat in the chair across the table. She wrapped her hands around the warmth, letting it seep into her cold fingers. He did the same, and they sat in silence, breathing in the steam.
"You're quiet," he said.
"Just thinking."
"About what?"
She took a sip of coffee. It was strong, black, exactly how she liked it. "About how strange this is. How we came here to get away from everything, and now all I want is for that plane to go away and leave us alone."
He smiled, a slow, warm thing that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Me too."
The baby kicked, a gentle roll against her bladder. She pressed her hand to the swell, feeling the movement ripple under her palm. Kyle's eyes tracked the motion, and his fingers tightened around his mug.
"Can I?" He nodded at her belly.
She lifted the hem of her sweater, baring the round swell of her stomach. He rose from his chair and came around the table, kneeling beside her. His hands settled on the bare skin of her belly, warm and rough, and he leaned in, pressing his ear against the taut curve.
"He's moving," he murmured. "Slow. Like he's dreaming."
She felt his breath against her skin. The heat of his hands soaked into her, reaching the deep ache in her womb. She closed her eyes, letting herself feel nothing but his presence, the flutter of their baby, the weight of both of them pressing her into the chair.
"Kyle," she whispered.
"Yeah?"
"What if I get too big? What if he grows so fast I can't... I can't even walk?"
He turned his head, his cheek resting against her belly. His eyes met hers. "Then I'd carry you. Everywhere. To the bathroom, to the kitchen, to the bed. And I'd still fuck you every night, pregnant or not. Bigger than the cabin, pregnant or not."
She laughed, startled, the sound escaping before she could stop it. He smiled against her skin, and the baby kicked, a sharp jab that made him grunt.
"He agrees," he said. "He's saying, that's my dad."
"That's not what he's saying."
"How do you know? You're not fluent in baby yet." He kissed her belly, soft and lingering. "We'll learn together."
The coffee cooled between them. The stove crackled. Outside, the world was thawing, dripping, waking up. And in Rosie's lap, a life was growing faster than any life had a right to. She looked down at Kyle, at the way his hand cradled the curve of her stomach, and she felt the fear drain out of her, replaced by something fierce and certain.
"Okay," she said.
He looked up. "Okay?"
"Okay. We'll talk to them if they come back. And if they try to make us leave, we'll tell them no." She put her hand over his. "We're staying. All three of us."
He rose, slow, and pulled her to her feet. The belly pressed against him, and he wrapped his arms around her, his chin resting on top of her head. She felt the thrum of his heartbeat, steady and sure.
"We're staying," he repeated. "And we're going to have so many babies, Rosie. You'll be the most pregnant woman in the mountains. Maybe the whole state."
She snorted, muffled against his chest. "Pretty sure that's not a competition."
"Everything's a competition. I plan to win."