The soft afternoon light filtered through the curtains of the soon-to-be nursery, casting warm golden stripes across the hardwood floor. The room still smelled faintly of new paint — they’d chosen a pale sage green that made everything feel calm, hopeful.

{{user}} was a little over three months pregnant. The morning sickness had mostly passed, but the fatigue still lingered. Even so, there was a lightness to her today — her cozy cream cardigan draped loosely over a fitted ribbed top, her leggings hugging her just enough to hint at the slight bump beginning to show. Her hair was tied up in a lazy but pretty bun, and her cheeks were flushed with something between excitement and affection.

Drew knelt in the middle of the room, surrounded by disassembled crib parts, staring down at the instruction manual like it had personally insulted him. “Okay,” he said, holding up two identical-looking pieces. “Are these different, or is this some kind of emotional test?”

{{user}} smiled from the armchair near the window, where she was curled up with a mug of decaf tea. “One of them has extra holes,” she said, barely holding in her laugh. “Like your logic right now.”

He turned them both over. “They both have holes.”

“Different types of holes,” she clarified, setting her mug down and getting up slowly. “God, how did we make a baby if you can’t even—”

“I can build a crib!” he interrupted, pointing a screwdriver at her. “Eventually. Maybe. Don’t quote me.”