6. Chapter 6

Chapter six

Present

A s soon as I walk in, Willa’s smile greets me like a warm beacon, though today it seems to falter at the edges. I place my usual order, trying to catch a glimpse of the old Willa, the one whose laughter was always a comforting backdrop to our conversations.

The store feels different now. Wedding catalogues line the walls, a new venture Willa embraced with the launch of her website. Each page turned by eager couples, each appointment scheduled, is a testament to her hard work. She’s hired a cadre of new staff to manage the swelling crowds, but amidst the bustle, there’s a certain melancholy that clings to the air.

I glance back at the counter, where Willa is holding a bouquet of blue roses—Laelia’s favorite. The flowers are vivid against the drab counter, a splash of colour in a scene that feels increasingly gray. I smile at her, trying to chase away the heaviness I feel. Willa’s smile in return is soft, almost fragile, as she places the bouquet carefully aside.

“They’re beautiful,” I say, nodding towards the flowers. “Laelia’s going to love them.”

Willa’s eyes linger on the bouquet, and for a moment, I catch a glimpse of something wet shimmering in her eyes. She blinks rapidly, shaking her head as if to dispel the sadness that has momentarily breached her composure. She forces a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “She sure will,” she says quietly. “I was planning to visit her later, but there’s been an issue with a delivery. Would you mind taking these to her instead?”

She hands me a second bouquet, this one a riotous explosion of rainbow-colored roses. It’s a striking contrast to the somber mood, and I can already picture how Laelia’s face will light up when she sees them.

“Of course,” I say, accepting the flowers with a grateful nod. “She’ll love these too.”

“She will,” Willa repeats, her voice nearly a whisper. “And don’t worry about paying for them. They’re on me, Killian. It’s the least I can do.”

“Thank you, Willa. I really appreciate it. And when I go to Lola’s tomorrow, I’ll bring you your favorite—blueberry muffin.”

Willa’s eyes flicker with a hint of genuine delight, though it’s quickly overshadowed by the sadness that still lingers. “Oh, don’t bother with me. But I won’t say no to a blueberry muffin from Lola’s.”

I chuckle softly, trying to lighten the mood. “Anyway, I should head out. I don’t want to keep her waiting.”

Willa gives me a sad, almost resigned smile. “Don’t keep our girl waiting,” she says, her voice barely more than a whisper as I take the flowers and turn to leave. The doorbell chimes as I step out, and I glance back to see Willa standing behind the counter, her smile now replaced by a distant, wistful gaze.

As I walk away, the weight of her sorrow follows me, a quiet reminder that not all wounds are visible, and sometimes the brightest flowers can be overshadowed by the deepest sadness.

As I make my way down the driveway, the sight of our house fills me with a sense of accomplishment and nostalgia. I can’t help but reflect on how far we’ve come from those early days—when she was still living with her dad and I was stuck in that cramped, run-down apartment. Now, we’ve built a life together in what feels like a dream house. It’s everything we hoped for: a spacious home with a large kitchen, a charming white picket fence, and a sprawling garden where our family can grow.

As I approach the front door, a sudden sharp pain in my left ankle makes me wince. Looking down, I see the cause of my discomfort: our mischievous cat, Meatball, who seems to have a knack for getting in the way. “You’re such a troublemaker,” I mutter, as he winds around my legs, clearly angling for his next meal.

I push open the door and call out, “Laelia!” as I walk down the hallway towards the kitchen, Meatball trailing closely behind me. In the kitchen, I head to the cupboard under the sink, retrieve two vases, and fill them with water. After adding the flower food, I carefully unwrap and trim the flowers, arranging them in the vases. I leave them on the counter for Laelia to place wherever she prefers.

Turning my attention back to Meatball, I notice he’s sitting in front of his empty food bowl, looking up at me with an almost pleading expression. It’s unusual for Laelia to forget to feed him—she’s usually meticulous about it. “Laelia?” I call out again, glancing towards the kitchen door, but there’s no answer. Meatball lets out a plaintive meow, as if he understands the urgency of the situation.

Why am I talking to the cat like he’s going to give me answers?

I open one of the cupboards, grab a sachet of cat food and a tub of biscuits, and head back to Meatball, who starts meowing enthusiastically as soon as he sees the food. You’d think we never feed him, given his reaction. As I pour the biscuits into his bowl, he devours them as though he’s been starving for days. Now that I think about it, he does look a bit thinner than usual. Maybe Laelia has been cutting back on his food—he’s always been a bit of a glutton.

With Meatball contentedly munching away, I put the remaining food back in the cupboard and exit the kitchen. “Laelia?” I call out once more, feeling a twinge of concern. I move into the living room, scanning for any sign of her, but it’s empty. I head for the stairs and begin ascending, calling out her name again, “Laelia?”

I reach our bedroom and check the en-suite bathroom, but she’s nowhere to be found. My worry grows with each empty room I check. Where could she be?

Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, I pull out my phone and tap out a message:

Where are you, beautiful? xx

I watch the screen, expecting a swift reply, but none comes through. It’s unusual; she’s always quick to respond. Something feels off.

Glancing up, I’m startled to see her standing in the doorway. She’s wearing my Mason Hill band t-shirt, which swallows her frame but somehow looks effortlessly stylish.

“I was shouting for you,” I say, trying to mask my surprise.

Without a word, she crosses the room and straddles me. I instinctively wrap my arms around her, while she drapes her arms loosely around my neck.

“Sorry,” she murmurs. “I was in the office with my headphones on. I only just heard you.”

I lean in and place a soft kiss on her lips, which she returns with equal tenderness. “Meatball was meowing like crazy. Surprisingly, he was being nice to me after he attacked my ankle when I came in.”

She chuckles softly. “I must have forgotten to feed him. Got so caught up in work, and you know, baby brain.” She grins and I place a gentle hand on her stomach.

Her bump is still modest but noticeable. She’s seventeen weeks along, now comfortably in her second trimester.

“How’s the nausea?” I ask, my concern evident.

She scrunches up her face. “Not much has changed, but I’ve been craving pickles all day. We’re out of pickles.”

I laugh, leaning in for another kiss. “I’ll make sure to pick some up when I head to the store later.”

She smiles against my lips. “Thank you.”

“Oh, and I got you some flowers,” I add, watching her eyes light up with curiosity.

“Blue roses?” she guesses, and I nod.

“Willa also gave me a bouquet of rainbow-coloured roses. She was planning to come by but got held up with a delivery.”

“I’ll text her to thank her,” she says, planting a kiss on my cheek. “Where are they?”

“Kitchen counter,” I reply.

Before I can react, she’s off me and darting through the door. I can’t help but chuckle at her enthusiasm as I follow her down the stairs.

As I reach the bottom of the stairs, I make my way quickly to the kitchen, only to find it empty. “Laelia?” I call out, my voice echoing slightly as I turn around to look for her. Suddenly, she appears right behind me, causing me to jump in surprise. “Damn it!” I exclaim, my hand instinctively flying to my chest.

She laughs softly, clearly amused by my reaction. “Sorry,” she says with a playful tone. As she walks past me, she heads straight for the flowers on the counter, her gaze fixed on their delicate petals. Her joy is evident as she admires them, and I’m reminded once again of how much I adore her. “They’re beautiful.”

I move closer and wrap my arms around her from behind, planting a gentle kiss on her cheek. “Where would you like them?” I ask, my voice tender. She leans back into my embrace, a contented sigh escaping her lips.

“Hmm…” she muses, thinking it over. “One in the centre of the counter and the other in our bedroom on my bedside table.”

She turns within my arms, and I place a soft kiss on her forehead before crouching down to gently rest my hands on her growing belly. The anticipation of becoming a father fills me with an overwhelming sense of joy. The thought of our little one growing every day, soon to be here and in our arms, is nothing short of magical. I’m eager to feel those first little kicks and movements. There’s a lot to be done before our baby arrives—picking out names, setting up the nursery, and gathering all the essentials. I also need to start buying some band t-shirts. No matter what, our child is going to be a little rocker, just like us.

I haven’t shared this with Laelia yet, but I’ve already begun collecting baby band merchandise online, stashing it away in a box under the bed. I’m surprised she hasn’t discovered it yet. Though, I have a sneaking suspicion that she might have seen it and is just waiting for me to come clean.

Leaning forward, I gently lift the hem of the band t-shirt she’s wearing, catching a glimpse of the lace thong beneath. It stirs something in me, but I push the impulse aside and focus on her. I press my lips to her small, rounded bump, whispering, “I can’t wait to meet you, little one. You’re already so loved by both of us. I have a feeling you’re going to look just like your mother—beautiful and enchanting. I can already picture all the boys falling for you, but just so you know, you’re not allowed to date until you’re at least fifty. Got it?”

Laelia giggles at my words. “You’re wrong,” she replies, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

I glance up at her, puzzled. “I’m wrong?” I ask, seeking clarification.

“Yes,” she says, her smile widening. “You’re wrong because if it’s a boy, he’ll be just like his dad—handsome, strong, loving, and, of course, a bit of a troublemaker. He’ll also have all the girls chasing him.”

I chuckle at her response. “You know I’m well-behaved,” I retort.

“And I’ll have you know that I’m a virgin,” she quips with a sarcastic edge, making me laugh again.

One thing is certain: Laelia and this child have my heart completely, no matter whether they’re a boy or a girl. This child is ours, and they are already so loved. The excitement I feel is almost overwhelming.

I can’t fucking wait.