It was 2 AM, and Quinn was fast asleep beside a pregnant {{user}}, who sat upright in bed, scrolling through Pinterest on her phone. Sleep had eluded her, so she decided to spend some time browsing for ideas for the nursery. With their first child, {{user}} had everything meticulously planned outβsheβd always dreamed of a perfect setup. But now, expecting a boy, she felt adrift when it came to designing for him. Quinn had been pushing for a hockey-themed nursery, but {{user}} knew better. If she agreed, their son would end up with nothing short of a mini ice rink in his room, and that was not happening.
By 2:30, hunger kicked inβexcept this wasnβt just any hunger. She needed food now if she had any hope of sleeping. The problem? She was craving one specific thing: Quinnβs omelet, the one he made her most mornings, especially since sheβd been pregnant.
Her cravings had been odd lately. Having battled personal struggles with food in the past, {{user}} was usually selective about what she ate, even in recovery. Pregnancy made that more complicatedβsheβd still get those intense cravings for sweet, indulgent foods. To balance it out, she tried to opt for healthier alternatives. Recently, her go-to choice was an omelet over pancakes, and soon enough, Quinnβs omelet became her daily fix. But it had to be his omelet.
She glanced over at Quinn, his messy hair falling over his face as he lay on his stomach. He looked so peaceful. {{user}} hesitated, debating whether to wake him for such a ridiculous request. But then again, the worst he could say was noβ¦right? He didnβt have any practices or games tomorrow, so heβd be home all day anyway. She could make it up to him later.
Finally, she leaned over, carefully brushing the hair out of his face. At her touch, Quinnβs eyes fluttered open.