27. Mylo

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

MYLO

The kitchen at the resort was buzzing with activity, and I was smack dab in the middle of it, wielding a spatula like it was a weapon. The smell of roasted veggies and caramelized onions filled the air, blending with the sweeter scent of Sarah's dessert station. We were gearing up for the huge party later today—one of those high-profile events where everything had to be perfect.

And here I was, almost full term by bear shifter standards—standing in the middle of it all. Five months. I still couldn't believe it. Bear shifter pregnancies only lasted five months. It was kind of a blessing, but it also felt like I was on the express lane to parenthood. Holden had tried—and failed spectacularly—to convince me to stop working. He'd brought it up about a thousand times, but it only took Hope, Sarah, and his mom giving him that look to shut him down. I was pregnant, not sick, and there was no way I was sitting around all day doing nothing while everyone else pulled the weight.

"Mylo, don't forget to taste the marinade before you add the extra garlic," Sarah called from across the kitchen, her eyes flicking between the mixer and the tray of cupcakes she was decorating. She wore that hyper-focused look, the one that said her brain was juggling a dozen things at once.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," I replied, shifting my weight from one swollen foot to the other. I'd learned the hard way—if Sarah said to taste the marinade first, you damn well tasted it first. I glanced at her and caught the smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"You know, I think my ankles are officially gone," I said, gesturing to my feet. "Like, I had them a couple of months ago. Now? Just balloons."

Sarah chuckled, shaking her head. "It's all part of the process. You're doing great, Mylo."

She smiled at me, one of those comforting, warm smiles that had made her such a good friend from the start.

Honestly, I'd lucked out with the pregnancy so far. It had been surprisingly easy—except for the swollen feet, the constant backache, and... well, this weird thing where I couldn't stand the smell of cinnamon. Cinnamon, of all things. It used to be one of my favorite spices, but now it made me gag. Sarah had found it hilarious the first time I recoiled from a fresh cinnamon bun like it was radioactive.

The door to the kitchen swung open, and I didn't need to look up to know it was Holden. The kitchen seemed to shift whenever he walked in—my man had that kind of presence. And now that I knew he was officially in charge of the pack, it made even more sense. This place wasn't just a resort; it was home for both bear and non-bear shifters.

He strode over to me, his eyes softening the moment they met mine, and my heart did that fluttery thing it always did when he looked at me like that.

"Hey, gorgeous," he murmured, low enough for only me to hear. His hand rested gently on the small of my back, and I leaned into his touch without thinking.

"Hey," I whispered back, tilting my head to look up at him. "You here to rescue me from kitchen duty?"

"Actually, yes." His lips curled into a small smile. "Time for that check-up with Bishop, remember?"

Right. The check-up. Our final ultrasound before the baby arrived. Despite the exhaustion that clung to me, excitement buzzed under my skin. Our baby. Our son.

"Alright," I said, giving Sarah an apologetic shrug. "Guess I'm cutting out early."

Sarah waved me off, her eyes twinkling. "Go on, get out of here. We've got it covered."

Holden helped me out of the kitchen—and by "helped," I mean he hovered, ready to catch me if I so much as wobbled. It was endearing, even if it was a bit much.

Not that I minded. Who wouldn't like feeling cherished?

The drive to Bishop's clinic was quiet. I kept sneaking glances at Holden from the corner of my eye. He wore that focused expression—the one that made it seem like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. His hand rested on my knee, his thumb tracing slow circles against my skin. It was a simple touch, but it made me feel grounded. Safe.

"You nervous?" I asked, breaking the silence.

He glanced over at me, his lips curving into a soft smile. "A little. But mostly excited. What about you?"

I shrugged, exhaling slowly. "Yeah. It's just... surreal, you know? In a few weeks, we're going to have a baby. Like... a real, tiny human being."

Holden chuckled, squeezing my knee gently. "Half bear, half human. But yeah, a tiny being that's ours."

When we arrived at the clinic, Bishop greeted us with a grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He led us into the exam room, and I climbed onto the table, Holden standing right next to me, our fingers laced together. The gel on my skin was cold, and I shivered slightly, earning a reassuring squeeze from Holden.

"There we go," Bishop said, focusing on the screen. "Let's see how this little guy is doing."

And there he was—our baby, moving ever so slightly on the grainy screen. My breath caught in my throat, and Holden's grip tightened around my hand. No matter how many times we'd seen him, it always took my breath away.

"He's perfect," Bishop murmured, his voice soft. "Everything looks great."

I glanced at Holden, and the look on his face made my heart squeeze. His eyes were locked on the screen, filled with awe, love, and something even deeper. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to my forehead, and I closed my eyes, savoring the moment.

"You hear that?" he whispered against my skin. "Our boy's perfect."

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. He was right. Everything about this felt perfect—even if my feet were swollen, my back ached, and cinnamon had become my mortal enemy. This was our family. Our future. And I wouldn't trade it for anything.