At work.

  In the middle of the day.

  I stifle a laugh and turn my head to kiss his cheek. His face is still tucked in the crook of my neck and his eyes are closed.

  He doesn’t want to rejoin the world. I think I broke him.

  I poke his chest and he grunts.

  “You’re suffocating me,” I groan.

  He rolls to the side and blinks his eyes open, but neither one of us make a move to get up. His hand reaches up to cup my chin and he pulls my face toward him so his lips can find mine again. His hand curves around my bare hip. Desire ignites inside of me like a match catching fire. He’s insane. I’m insane. This feeling is insane. Can you fall in love in weeks? In days? In minutes? I have nothing to compare this to, so I decide the best option is to just ask Matt.

  “Will you be honest with me about your feelings really quick?”

  “Now?” he groans, stringing kisses down my neck. His hand is stroking the inside of my thigh. My stomach dips with anticipation and my eyes flutter closed. I spread my legs just a little.

  “It’s not ideal timing, I know, but I already started and half the battle is bringing up the subject in the first place.” I conjure superhuman willpower and push him away so my neck is left bare and cold, and his hand moves back up to my hip. Just like that, round two gets pushed to the back burner. Boy, am I an idiot.

  Matt props his head on his hand and stares down at me, amused when I expected him to be annoyed. “I’m all ears, but just to be clear, in the back of my mind, I’m thinking about what I’m going to do to you after this conversation is over.”

  I shiver at the thought. “Oh dear. Right, I’ll hurry. Okay, so you were married once, right?”

  “Yes. Once.”

  “So you know what love feels like?”

  The tip of his mouth lifts and could I be more stupid?! This whole thing is transparent. I’m supposed to keep my cool and lock my feelings away until some distant time in the future when it’s obvious he loves me too, and then—and ONLY THEN—should I be honest about how much I am head over heels for him.

  “No!” I say quickly. “I’m not bringing that word up because I’m about to declare it…I was just hoping for some clarification.”

  “Okay,” he replies, and I’m glad he sounds mildly intrigued, but unfortunately, I can’t seem to figure out the best way to explain myself. Then a brilliant idea smacks me in the face.

  I grin. “Okay, how about this? Let’s play doctor and patient.”

  I don’t miss the glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

  “You have my full attention,” he muses.

  I laugh and press my hand to his chest to keep him at arm’s length in case he gets any wild ideas. “No. Stay focused! I’m going to give you my symptoms and you’re going to decide if what I feel for you is just lust or if, y’know, maybe—”

  “You’re in love?” he finishes for me.

  My face burns.

  My brows pinch together as I ask, “Does that scare you?”

  His gaze holds mine, but he doesn’t reply, and I hate how indiscernible his features are. He never hides his feelings from me. Not usually.

  “This is stupid,” I say, turning to stare up at the ceiling.

  “Tell me your symptoms,” he goads with a cheeky smirk.

  I roll my eyes, but he kisses my neck and nudges me with his nose, like a dog begging for pets. “Tell me.”

  “All right, well, let’s see…my stomach flips with excitement whenever you enter a room.”

  “Mmm, could be either.”

  “Right.” I nod and continue, “Um, you really turn me on.”

  He laughs. “Either.”

  “I’m considering moving to another country with you.”

  He hums.

  “I see a future with you—not in a let’s-get-married-tomorrow sort of way, but more like wow I really admire and respect you as a person and think you’d make a great husband, a great dad.”

  He pulls back and frowns, really studying me. It’s not exactly the reaction I was going for—more balloons and confetti, maybe a smile would have been nice—but at least he doesn’t push me off the couch and make a quick getaway.

  “Dad,” he repeats slowly.

  I frown as a thought pops into my mind, one that hadn’t occurred to me until this moment. “Oh, god. You want kids, don’t you? Please say yes because my heart can’t take much more this week.”

  His brows soften and he nods, kissing my forehead, tugging me close. “Yes. I want kids.”

  “Okay good.”

  “A couple.”

  I grin. “Even better. So, do you have a diagnosis for me?”

  “I should probably run a few more tests,” he quips as his hand wanders across my back and over my butt. He squeezes twice. “But even without them, it’s pretty clear what you’ve come down with.”

  “Oh yeah?” I lean my head back and smile up at him.

  His other hand rests on my forehead like he’s taking my temperature. He hisses under his breath. “Just as I suspected—you’ve got it bad.”

  I crack up. “Love, huh? Well then, what’s my treatment plan?”

  “Kissing,” he says before laying one on me. “That should help some.” Then he rolls up and over me so his body pins me to the couch. “Sex. Twice daily, or more as needed.” His mouth is over mine as he speaks and I feel his smile against my lips.

  I groan.

  “Side effects may include elevated heart rate, sweating, feelings of euphoria.”

  “Matt. You’re killing me.”

  He doesn’t let up though. He’s really enjoying this.

  “If symptoms don’t subside in four to six months, we might need to adjust our treatment plan.”

  I quirk a brow. “More sex?”

  How original.

  He grins and shakes his head, leaning back so he can really get a good look at me. “No, Bailey. Commitment. Marriage. Happily ever after.”

  My smile feels shaky. My insides are made of ooey-gooey mush.

  “Happily ever after?” I ask, my voice coming out squeaky.

  His face turns somber and he produces an Oscar-worthy frown. “I’m afraid it might be the only cure.” Then he breaks character, grins, and lays another one on me. “Now how do we convince Josie to move to Costa Rica?”

  Epilogue - TWO YEARS LATER

  BAILEY

  “Can you hear it?” I ask impatiently.

  Matt’s mouth hitches in an amused half-smile as he glances up at me. “I can hear the sandwich you had for lunch working its way through your bowels.”

  “Charming.”

  His eyes widen. “Hold on. Shh, I have it.”

  My heart leaps into my throat and I reach for the stethoscope. “Let me hear! Let me hear!”

  He shakes his head and his finger presses to his lips as he slowly pushes the diaphragm of his stethoscope a few millimeters to the left. I’m splayed out on my back on our bed with my shirt tugged up to my bra, trying and failing to lie still.

  Matt’s expression softens, a little spark flares in his eyes, and I know he’s got it. He’s listening to our baby’s heartbeat. I’ve heard it a few times, but the moments in the doctor’s office are always too fleeting and too clinical. My OBGYN is usually busy adjusting the settings on the ultrasound machine, checking the baby’s vitals, printing photos. It’s always over before I’ve really had a good listen, but now that I’m a little over four months pregnant, our baby should be big enough for us to hear the heartbeat at home, just like this.

  Matt glances down at his watch and I know he’s counting the beats per minute. He’s checking the baby’s heart rate and listening for any murmurs or abnormalities. Even in this setting, he can’t resist the urge to check up on his most precious patient: his son. He nods a few seconds later and I know everything is as it should be.

  I release a deep breath—one I didn’t realize I was holding—as Matt tugs the earpiece off. His other hand stays steady with the diaphragm in place. “Here, listen. He’s moving a lot, but you should be able to hear it.”

  I place the earbuds in my ears as fast as possible, but I’m not quick enough. I can’t hear a thing. Wait! I hear—

  No. That’s my bowel.

  I frown and shake my head. Matt adjusts the diaphragm a smidge to the left.

  “There?”

  “No.”

  He adjusts it again and—there! I can hear it!

  I grab his wrist to still his movements. Our eyes lock. My other hand flies to my mouth. There’s no doubt about what I’m hearing. It’s like a galloping horse echoing through the earpiece, the most distinct, awe-inspiring sound in the world: a tiny heart beating inside me.

  “It’s so fast,” I say, amazed.

  Tears collect in the corners of my eyes.

  Matt nods. “I counted 152 beats per minute, and no murmurs.”

  I smile then lean my head back on my pillow and close my eyes, listening. I could stay here all day. At this stage, our little boy is still so small that most of the time I can’t feel any sign of him at all. Listening to his steady heartbeat is a reassuring reminder that he’s in there, hanging out right where he should be.

  I feel Matt’s hand flatten over my small bump and then he whispers something I can’t quite hear. I wink one eye open and watch him as he brushes his hand lovingly back and forth across my skin, as if he’s touching our little boy.

  “Your mom is listening to your heart right now, so you have to hold still,” he says. I smile and reach down to ruffle his hair. He presses a kiss to my bump and then glances up. “I’ve been thinking about what we should name him.”

  “Oh?” I tilt my head to the side and take out the earpiece. “Josie has quite an opinion on that. She presents me with new ideas every day. Half of them are just the names of characters from her books. The latest round included: Peeta, Cedric, and Dumbledore.”

  Matt smiles. “I’d like to name him Thomas.”

  My gut clenches. “After my father?”

  “Yes. What do you think?”

  “I love it,” I say, my tone betraying how touched I am that he would suggest it. “But Josie will be so disappointed we aren’t using one of her suggestions.”

  He laughs. “Why don’t we let her pick the middle name?”

  I groan. “The power will go straight to her head.”

  Just then a chorus of screams crashes through our closed bedroom door. Josie and four of her friends are having a sleepover to celebrate her birthday. It’s been planned for weeks. She’s been talking my ear off about it. I had a very specific list of items to purchase at the grocery store after work: popcorn, chips, soda, candy, and birthday cake. I snuck apples in the cart too and Josie shoved them to the back of the fridge to make more room for soda. They’ll all need to go straight to the dentist first thing in the morning.

  It’s currently half past nine, and there’s no end in sight. After making pizza and feeding them dinner, Matt and I decided to hole up in our bedroom in an effort to save ourselves and (our ears) from five very chatty, very loud high school girls. Since then, we’ve snuck out twice. The first time, Matt and I needed to steal more of their pizza. We found them sitting on their pallets in the living room prank calling boys from their grade. Hilarious. I might have had them pass me the phone so I could participate but would firmly deny that in a court of law.

  The second time we ventured out, it was because they were all screaming bloody murder. Matt and I rushed out to make sure everyone’s limbs were still intact. We found all five of them huddled around Josie’s phone watching ghost videos on YouTube and trying to scare the crap out of each another. Matt and I watched one of the videos too. I pursed my lips and swatted my hand, tacking on a heartfelt “That is totally fake!”, but to be honest, I’ll be sleeping with the light on tonight and Matt will be on ghost duty.

  Now, they’re at it again. Their laughter and shouts have hit an all-time high.

  The stethoscope is forgotten. I need to teach this little baby how to execute a stealth mission. I roll off the bed like a massive walrus dumping itself into the ocean then scurry to the door in time to hear one of them shout, “Did he seriously just text you ‘hi’ and nothing else?! What are you supposed to say to that?”

  “Josie!” another one of them shouts. “He’s the hottest boy in our grade! You have to reply!”

  Matt stays on the bed, chiding me for eavesdropping. I shoo him with my hand and press my ear to the door for better acoustics. Where’s a plastic cup when I need it?

  Josie’s social life is alive and well thanks to the small private school we found for her in Costa Rica. Most of the students are also expats. She goes to school with teenagers from all over the world and last I checked, she has three boys from three different countries head over heels in love with her. She’s still more into books than ever, but I’m not sure how much longer that will last.

  “Eh, I don’t really want to lead him on,” Josie replies. “You know the other day I asked him who his favorite literary character was and he couldn’t name one! Not one!”

  There’s some mumbling and inaudible conversation. Most of it is drowned out because Matt has turned the TV on and cranked the volume to a deafening level to teach me a lesson. I hurry over to mute it. There’s a skirmish with the remote, but I eventually wrench it free, opting to use a carefully timed fake contraction to distract him. I’m a proud little monster as I mute the TV and run back to the door. He groans, but this is important! This is teenage-girl gossip.

  “Oh my gosh, wait—did Derek just text you too? Why do you even bother with him? He’s a total nerd.”

  “I like him,” Josie insists, sounding a little defensive. “We’re friends.”

  “Why?! He doesn’t hang out with any of the cool guys.”

  “So? Who cares? He’s really funny, and I happen to think he’s the cutest boy in our grade.”

  I pump my fist in the air. That’s my girl.

  Go for the nerd, Josie!

  I turn, brush my hands together as if to say, My job here is done, and then stroll back to the bed.

  “Happy with yourself?” Matt asks, looking adorable propped up against our headboard with his shirt off. He really should never wear clothes.

  I grin. “Very.”

  I’m glad to see Josie seems to still have a good head on her shoulders, especially considering the whirlwind of the last two years. Moving to another country, starting a new school, adjusting to life with Matt, and now with this new baby on the way—I’ve kept her at the forefront of my thoughts, careful to make sure she’s not totally overloaded with all the change.

  We’ve worked hard to ensure she feels like part of our unit. When Matt was considering proposing to me, he took Josie with him to the jewelry store so she could help him pick out a ring. He later told me she tried to pick out the biggest stone they had (worth tens of millions) and he had to talk her into something a little more realistic, one that wouldn’t cause back strain.

  At our tiny wedding ceremony on the beach with close friends and family, Josie acted as flower girl, ring bearer, and maid of honor. If we’d allowed it, she would have been the officiant as well.

  “I just got certified online! I think…I’m not sure. I had to enter your credit card information.”

  When Matt and I were first thinking of trying to conceive, Josie accidently found my stash of pregnancy tests in our bathroom cabinet. I was making dinner and she walked out, cradling the boxes in her arms, tears running down her face.

  I freaked out, assuming the worst—that she was overwhelmed and upset we hadn’t consulted her first—but then with a shuddering sob, she exclaimed, “OH MY GOD! I’m going to be an aunt!”

  She didn’t really care that I wasn’t actually pregnant yet. To her, the possibility was just as exciting.

  We’ve settled into life here easier than I thought we would. The clinic has taken off. Matt and I both spend our days there, continuing to train staff from all over Costa Rica and operating on patients three days a week. When the grant committee approached Matt and offered him the opportunity to stay on for another two years with full funding, we all jumped at the chance. We love our life here and even though we’ll likely move back to the States when Josie goes off to college, we’re all happy to be here now, growing as a family of three, soon to be four.

  Another chorus of laughter rings out from our living room and Matt tugs me closer on the bed.

  “You know we’re not getting any sleep tonight, right?” I joke.

  “Well, I guess there’s only one thing we can do,” he replies with a smirk.

  I know immediately what he’s suggesting.

  “No. You’re terrible. We said last time would be it. No more.”

  “C’mon,” he says, nuzzling my neck. “You know you want to.”

  I smile and shake my head. “You’re a terrible influence.”

  “You’re the one who got me addicted.”

  It’s true. This is all my fault.

  He’s already turning on the TV and navigating to Netflix. “C’mon, indulge your husband.”

  “Fine,” I say, throwing my hands up in mock defeat.

  Then we sit together, hip to hip, while the Grey’s Anatomy theme song plays on our TV.

  A few minutes later, he gestures to the screen. “Oh, c’mon! Those doctors would totally get caught.”

  He’s talking about the surgeons currently getting it on in a storage closet.

  I clear my throat. “Matt, we did that.”

  He narrows his gaze on me thoughtfully. “As I recall, we didn’t actually kiss.”

  I roll my eyes. “Close enough.”

  He quirks a brow. “So you don’t think there’s a difference between an almost kiss and the real thing?”

  He starts to shift toward me. He has ideas brewing beneath that thick head of hair. There are teenage girls squealing with delight in the living room and I’m holding him at bay as he guides me down onto the bed. In seconds, I’m underneath him and he looks almost sinister from this angle, too intimidating for his own good.

  He props a hand on either side of my head and cages me in against the blankets. I couldn’t move if I tried.