**Completed** Cole Galloway has always had just enough of an ego to believe that the women falling at his feet were deserved. With an abundance of charm and looks to die for, who wouldn't want him?
Wynona Caldwell. That's who.
When Cole sets his s...
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Cole
It's a girl.
But of course I've known that all along. Well, maybe I didn't, but my wife was certain enough for the both of us.
"I knew it was you, Lyla," Wynn coos as she gazes at the ultrasound screen. "You're not a Lionel or a Larry like your daddy thought."
"Hey, I was only offering helpful name ideas, just in case," I reply. "And besides, I never suggested Larry."
Wynn manages to tear her eyes away from the image of our baby girl long enough to give me a wry grin. "It doesn't matter anyway. I can't wait to meet our daughter!"
"You can definitely wait." I smooth a few stray hairs away from her forehead. "No more scares, no more emergencies. You need to stay pregnant for at least five more months."
"Don't I know it." She puffs out an aggravated breath. "It was kind of scary, but I know how to keep it from happening again."
"Me, too. I'll get you a Camelbak so you're never without water."
"Gross." She gags, making a face. "As if I'm not enough of a freak at school already, you'd have me wandering the halls with a humpback full of water?"
"It's no worse than carrying a water bottle," I reason. "Plus it holds more and it's always conveniently accessible."
"You're such a guy," Wynn groans, rolling her eyes at my solution. "Despite my potbelly and ever-growing thighs I'd like to at least try to be somewhat fashionable still."
"What's your idea then?" I cross my arms over my chest, finding that I'm equal parts amused and relieved now that I know everything's okay. I'm also in a lot of trouble, considering how cute I find her sulking. I'm weak, and she reads me too well.
"Ice cream," she asserts with a devious grin. "Lots of it. It won't help my growing booty, but itis technically a liquid."
"Your booty is fine in every sense of the word, babe," I say, fascinated by her ridiculous logic. "How 'bout this: swear you'll drink at least eight bottles of water a day, and we'll get you all the ice cream you can handle."
She gives my hand a firm shake of assent. "Deal. But you have to agree to help me work off my calorie bender when Lyla arrives. Think you can handle that?"
"Oh, I can handle it. Can you?" I waggle my eyebrows suggestively conveying just what sort of exercise I have in mind.
She blushes fiercely, giggling as she slaps my shoulder. "Something tells me we're gonna have a lot of children."
********
It's hot.
And I'm not the one toting around a seven-pound human in my stomach. To say that my lovely wife is uncomfortable would be the understatement of the century. She's irritable, tired, and, worst of all, hangry.
