194

194
The air in the loft was cool, smelling of expensive bourbon and the rain-slicked city streets outside. Derek was standing at the bar, the amber liquid catching the light as he poured. When the door clicked shut, he looked up, and his entire face softened—that sudden, unguarded brightness that he always had whenever he saw her that made Olivia’s breath hitch.

“Movie night over already?” he asked, his voice warm. He didn’t wait for an answer before rounding the bar to meet her. “I thought you were going to spend the night at Isabella's. I’d already mentally prepared myself for a cold bed tonight.”

Olivia dropped her bag on the table with a heavy thud. She stepped into his space, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. His skin was warm, smelling of cedar and the drink he’d just poured. “I thought so too, but I was tired, so I decided to come home.”

“Hmmm,” Derek sighed, and kissed her briefly on the lips. He pulled back, scanning her face with a small smile. “In that case, let me pour you a glass of that Cabernet you like. You look like you need to unwind.”

“Sure,” Olivia started to say, the reflex of habit taking over, then it suddenly hit her that she couldn't drink anymore now that she had a tiny little life growing in her. Shit, she thought, and added immediately, “Actually, no,” she corrected quickly, her voice a pitch too high. “Just... pour me some juice. Or water. Anything but wine.”

Derek’s hand froze over the bottle. He turned slowly, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized her. “Are you alright?” The playful light in his eyes was replaced by a sharp, focused concern. “You almost never say no to a glass of red after a long day.”

Olivia forced a gasp of mock fury, desperate to deflect. “Are you implying I’m an alcoholic, Hawthorne? Because if that’s the case, it’s entirely your fault. You’re a terrible influence.”

Derek threw his head back and let out a short bark of laughter. “Whatever you say, Liv, but just so you know, you were always a very willing participant.” He set the wine bottle down with a definitive clack and reached for a glass of orange juice instead. “Hungry? You didn't eat all Isabella's popcorn, did you?”

“Starving,” Olivia admitted. The word felt like an understatement; her stomach felt like a bottomless pit and a stormy sea all at once. “But I have no idea what I want. Everything sounds both amazing and terrible.”

“I could make you those truffle sliders from the other day,” Derek offered, already moving toward the kitchen.

“That’s sweet, but it’ll take too long.” She stretched, her joints feeling like lead, and let out a long, bone-deep yawn. “God, I’m so tired. I feel like I’ve run a marathon.”

The concern in Derek’s eyes returned tenfold. He abandoned the kitchen and was at her side in two strides. His hand curled around her waist, steady and possessive, as he pulled her gently against his chest. “Liv, look at me.” His voice was a low, urgent murmur. He used his free hand to cup her face, his thumb brushing over her cheekbones. “You’re pale. And you’re swaying on your feet.” He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, then her neck. “You feel flushed. Maybe you’re coming down with a flu. We should call my doctor in the morning, or just go to the clinic tonight.”

Olivia pulled back slightly, her heart hammering against her ribs. “No, no doctors. I mean, not tonight. I’m fine, Derek. Really.”

She realized the irony immediately. She did need a doctor, but not for a fever. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. She looked at him—really looked at him—and saw the man who was finally finding peace in their relationship. Was there ever a perfect way or time to tell a man he was going to be a father?

Derek didn't blink. He watched the micro-expressions crossing her face and his brow furrowed. He could practically see the gears grinding in her head, the way her pupils dilated with an unspoken weight. His protective instincts were redlining.

“Liv,” he said softly, his hands moving to rest on her shoulders, anchoring her. “The wheels are spinning so loud in your head I can hear them from here. Something is bothering you. Just tell me. Whatever it is—whatever the problem is—I’ll fix it. You know I will.”

Olivia felt a lump form in her throat. His sensitivity, his absolute certainty that he could protect her from anything, made her eyes prickle. He wanted to fix it, but this wasn't a broken project or a business rival or anything he could fix. 

There was no other way to say this, so she stepped closer, her hands moving nervously to the buttons of his shirt. She couldn't meet his gaze, so she focused on the tactile sensation of the cotton beneath her fingertips, playing with the top button as her breath hitched. Derek stood perfectly still, a silent statue, waiting for her to find the words.

“There’s nothing to fix, Derek,” she whispered, her voice trembling. She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady her lungs. “But there is something you need to know.”

She hesitated, then let it all out in a single, rushed exhale. “I haven't been feeling well lately, and my period was late... so I took a test today, and it turns out I'm pregnant, Derek. We’re having a baby.”

The silence that followed her confession wasn’t the cold, hollow vacuum she had feared. Instead, it was thick and vibrating, as if the very air was rearranging itself. Derek didn't pull away. He didn't blink. For a heartbeat, he looked like a man who had just seen a ghost, but then his expression fractured, and a raw, piercing light flooded his dark eyes. His heart didn't just beat; it hammered against his ribs with a frantic, soaring joy that made his breath catch in his throat. 

A father.

The word echoed in his mind, dismantling every lingering fear he’d ever held about the future. He was going to be a father. With her. He reached out, his thumb hooking under her chin to gently but firmly tilt her face up. He needed to see her eyes. He needed her to see his.

“So why were you so worried, Liv?” he asked, his voice a low, rough velvet. “You didn't want to tell me?”