MR AND MRS

10.

*Hey, hey! I know it's been a year since I've touched this book, but I'm back in it! I'm going off to college soon, so please expect slow updates. I love you all, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!*

Olivia woke slowly, wrapped in the steady warmth of Spencer’s body pressed against her back. His arm was slung over her waist, his hand resting gently on her belly, where it had stayed all night—a quiet, constant presence. She felt the faint rise and fall of his chest as he spooned her, his breath soft against her neck, and for a moment, she lingered in the stillness, letting it ground her. His hand on her stomach was a tether—to her, to whatever they were trying to rebuild. There wasn’t even a bump yet, she thought, just flat skin under his palm, but he held her like it was real, like he wasn’t going to leave her this time.

He stirred behind her, nuzzling closer, his voice a low rasp in her ear. “Morning, Liv.”

“Morning,” she murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips as she turned her head slightly. His dark eyes fluttered open, meeting hers, then drifting briefly to her stomach—a quiet acknowledgment—before settling back on her face.

“You’re still here,” she said, her tone soft but edged with surprise, her hand brushing over his where it rested on her belly.

He tightened his grip slightly, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “Not going any-damn-where.” His voice was rough with sleep, but the weight of it settled over her like a promise. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, and for once, it wasn’t a lie. She rolled over in his arms, facing him fully, her fingers tracing his jaw. “You?”

“Better now,” he said, catching her hand and kissing her palm. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” she admitted, grinning as she propped herself up on her elbow.

“Pancakes?” He raised a brow, already shifting to climb out of bed.

“Only if you’re cooking,” she teased, and he laughed—a deep, warm sound that filled the room.

“Deal.” He tugged on his shirt and headed to her kitchen, and she watched him go, the memory of his hand on her belly—no bump yet, just possibility—sticking with her. The morning unfolded easily—Spencer at the stove, flipping pancakes with a focus she found charming, Olivia perched on the counter with a mug of tea, stealing bits of batter when he wasn’t looking. They traded light banter, the air sweet and calm, and for a while, she let herself enjoy it.

But as they sat at her small table, plates stacked with syrup-drenched pancakes, the quiet couldn’t last. Their past, Alicia, the mess between them—it all pressed in. She set her fork down, her appetite fading as the tension rose.

“Spence,” she started, her voice steady but firm, “we can’t keep avoiding it. Us. What are we doing?”

He paused, fork halfway to his mouth, and lowered it, meeting her gaze. “I know,” he said, exhaling hard. “I’ve been thinking about it all damn morning. I’m scared as shit, Liv—of fucking this up again. But I’m not running. I’m here.”

She studied him, her hand resting on the table. “Are you sure? Because we’ve been through too much for me to just trust words. I need to know this is real, not some fleeting thing.”

“I’m fuckin’ sure,” he said, leaning forward, his hand reaching for hers across the table. “I meant every damn thing I said last night. I want you—always have. I’m not here to monkey around.”

Her throat tightened, the sting of their past biting at her. “Okay. But we need to figure this out—really figure it out. Where do we go from here? I’m pregnant, and that’s part of it, but it’s not everything.”