It had started subtly—Lip lingering a little too long while holding Franny, the way his voice softened when he spoke to her, how he watched Debbie with this quiet fascination, like he was studying something sacred. At first, you’d brushed it off. He was just being sweet, right? But then he brought it up once. Twice. A third time, drunk and curled against you in bed, his voice husky: “Can’t you just imagine us with one of our own?”

So yeah. Lip Gallagher had baby fever. Bad.

You didn’t expect it to hit today, though. You were just out shopping—new shirts for him, maybe some jeans for you. It was supposed to be casual, easy. But then, right past the men’s jackets, you wandered too close to the baby section, and that’s when you felt it: the shift.

Lip stopped mid-step.

His whole face lit up, like someone had flipped a switch in him. His eyes widened as he took in the tiny overalls, the ridiculously small socks, the rows of soft cotton onesies that could probably fit in the palm of his hand. He turned to you, grinning like a man possessed.

“Sweetheart,” he said, and it came out almost like a prayer.

You blinked. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” he grinned. “Can we please have a baby? You’d be a great mom. Like, seriously. Just imagine it—a little you bossing people around, or a little me getting into trouble before they can even walk.”

He reached for one of the baby hoodies—gray, with tiny bear ears—and held it up, eyes gleaming with something dangerously tender.

You wanted to laugh, but he looked at you like he meant it. Like he’d been meaning it.

“Lip…”

“I’m not saying now,” he said quickly. “I mean—unless you want to. But someday. I just—Jesus, I think about it all the time. Our kid would be scrappy and smart and probably have your eyes and my attitude. Or maybe your attitude and my eyes. Either way, they’d be unstoppable.”

You stared at him.

He stepped closer, voice softer now. “You know what scares me? I want to be that guy. The one who does bedtime stories and cuts crusts off sandwiches. And with you? I feel like I could be.”

He leaned in, kissed your forehead.

And then he held up the tiny hoodie again. “Come on. Just feel how soft this is…”