You didn’t even mean to take the test in Paris. It wasn’t planned. You were just late — not terribly, just enough to make you wonder. And with Drew off picking up pastries and espresso like the hopeless romantic he always insisted he wasn’t, you took the chance.

The test was shoved into the side pocket of your makeup bag, one of those “just in case” purchases. You hadn’t thought much of it when you brought it.

But now?

Now you were sitting on the edge of the sink in your hotel robe, staring at two pink lines that had shown up faster than your heartbeat could catch up.

Pregnant.

You were pregnant.

The sound of the door opening made your whole body jolt.

“Baby?” Drew’s voice drifted in casually, cheerful. “Okay, I officially fought off two American tourists for these croissants, so you better—”

He stopped.

You were standing in the middle of the room now, bare feet on the rug, test in hand, eyes wide, heart racing. The second he saw your face, the change in you, his brows furrowed, steps slowing.

“What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t speak. You just lifted the test slightly. Shaky. Silent.

Drew blinked.

“What is that? …Is that what I think—” His voice caught in his throat. He dropped the pastry bag on the bed without looking, eyes locked on yours. “Are you—? Wait.”

He walked closer, slowly, like he was afraid to break the moment by moving too fast. He looked down at the test in your hand, then back up at you.

“Baby,” he breathed out. “Are you serious?”

You nodded, eyes already wet.

He blinked again. “Like… a baby baby?”

You let out a tiny laugh through your tears. “Yes. A baby baby.”

That’s when it hit him. All at once.

“Oh my God.”

He didn’t even hesitate — Drew practically rushed the space between you, wrapping you in his arms and picking you up just enough to spin you in a slow circle, laughing with pure disbelief.

“Holy shit, are you kidding me right now?” he half-yelled, burying his face in your neck. “You’re—this is—we’re gonna have a baby?”

You nodded again, giggling through the lump in your throat. “I guess we are.”

He pulled back just enough to look at your face, his eyes bright and his hands cupping your cheeks like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

“I’m so in love with you,” he said, voice cracking. “I didn’t think I could feel this kind of happy.”

He kissed you — not hard or rushed, but deep, like it came from the middle of his chest. Then he dropped to his knees, hands holding your waist, and pressed the softest kiss to your stomach, the way someone might kiss the cover of a love letter.

“I already love you,” he whispered, eyes on your belly. “And I love you, too,” he added, glancing up at you with a grin that was almost boyish, overwhelmed.

You ran your fingers through his hair, breath hitching.

“Drew…”

He got up again, only to pull you down to sit with him on the edge of the bed. He was buzzing — like he couldn’t stop touching you, kissing your temple, holding your hand to his chest.

“I’ve never wanted anything more,” he said, not even trying to hide how full of emotion he was. “Not a role, not fame, not anything. You. This. You’re gonna be the most beautiful mom. God, you’re already glowing.”

You gave him a playful shove. “Shut up, I literally cried ten minutes ago.”

“And you’ve never looked hotter.”

You laughed and kissed him again — long, soft, smiling through it.