MR AND MRS

11.

She’d woken early, nerves and excitement humming, tiptoeing past Simone’s room to keep the house quiet. The appointment was at 10 a.m., and she’d planned something special. At 8:30, she texted Spencer.

“Here by 9. Wear something nice. No pressure, just trust me.”

His reply pinged back.

“Nice? Shit, Liv, you got me nervous. I’m on my way.”

She smiled, shaking her head, and got to work.

By the time he knocked, she’d set up breakfast on the counter—blueberry muffins, strawberries, coffee brewing. She tugged at the waistband of her gray sweatpants, the tight shirt hugging her gentle bump, and opened the door. Spencer stood there, sharper than expected: a white button-up rolled to his elbows, dark jeans, and a shy grin that made her stomach flutter. His eyes flicked over her, pausing on the gentle bump clearly defined under her shirt—a soft acknowledgment—before meeting hers.

“Wow, Liv,” he said, stepping inside, “you said nice, but you’re making me look like I just rolled out of bed. What’s all this?”

“It’s a big day, Spence,” she said, closing the door with a warm laugh. “Your first appointment with me and the baby. I wanted it to feel… special, you know? Not just some exam room.”

He took in the muffins, the fruit, her effort, his eyes softening. “You didn’t have to do all this, Liv,” he said, voice catching, like he was holding back something deeper. “I’m already all in for this.”

“Good kind of all in, or nervous?” she teased, nudging him toward the counter.

“Good,” he said, grabbing a muffin, his smile wide. Then, his gaze dropped to her belly, the bump clear under her shirt. He hesitated, then reached out, his hand gently resting on the curve. “This is so wild, Liv,” he murmured, fingers warm through the fabric. Before she could respond, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her bump, lips lingering for a heartbeat. Olivia froze, her breath catching, awe washing over her at the tenderness in his eyes when he looked up.

“Spence,” she whispered, voice thick, a smile breaking through. “You’re gonna have me crying before we even leave.”

He grinned, standing straight, a touch sheepish. “Couldn’t help it, Liv. That’s our kid in there.” She nodded, heart full, still reeling as she poured him coffee.

They sat at the kitchen table, morning light streaming in. He ate the muffin, nerves showing in how he spun the mug. “You’re gonna love it,” she said, hand brushing the gentle bump outlined by her shirt. “The heartbeat’s like… pure magic.”

“Magic, huh?” He chuckled, eyes locked on her. “Can’t wait to hear it, Liv.”

After breakfast, she handed him a small gift bag from behind the couch—a keychain with a tiny football charm and “Dad” etched in silver. “For you,” she said, cheeks warm. “To remember today. Don’t make it a big deal.”

He pulled it out, staring like it was priceless, thumb tracing the word. “Liv,” he said, voice low, “this is everything. Thank you.” He leaned over, kissing her forehead, and she lingered in the warmth before pulling back.

“Come on,” she said, grabbing her purse. “Our baby’s waiting.”

The drive to the clinic was calm, R&B humming on the radio. Spencer tapped his knee, nerves peeking through. She squeezed his arm. “You’ve got this, Spence,” she said. “It’s just us and a little heartbeat.”

“Easy for you to say,” he teased, grinning. “You’re a pro at this.”

“Not with you,” she replied, and he softened, his look making her chest glow.