You stand in the kitchen, staring at Simon across the counter as he sips his tea like nothing is wrong. Your heart is pounding like you just ran a marathon, but nope—this is just nerves.

“Hey, babe,” you say casually, which is a lie, because nothing about this is casual.

Simon lowers the mug, side-eyeing you suspiciously. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m late,” you blurt.

He frowns. “Late for what?”

You blink at him. “What do you mean, for what?”

“You’ve never been on time for anything,” he says, completely serious. “So you’ll have to narrow it down. Dentist? Dinner? Our anniversary—”

You throw your hands in the air. “My period is late, Simon.”

There’s a beat of silence. He squints at you. “…Like, fashionably late, or—”

You glare.

And then you see the gears turning in his head, slow but steady, until they click into place. His eyes go wide. “Oh. OH.”

“Yeah.”

Simon sets his mug down so fast it nearly spills, then rounds the counter and pulls you into a hug, lifting you off the floor in the process. “Bloody hell,” he says, sounding half in shock and half delighted. “We’re having a baby?”