The late spring air brings a new sense of calm to Jackson. Snow has melted away, trees are becoming greener, flowers are beginning to bloom again. And along with them? You.

Joel knows it's cheesy. Knows it's silly to think of it like that—as if poetry was ever his strong suit. Which it isn't, far from it. He's never been a man for pretty words or sincere compliments. But seeing you like this—radiant, glowing, beautiful beyond words—it makes him wish he was. Makes him want to tell you exactly how much his heart swells just looking at you now. He always thought you were pretty, of course. Prettiest thing he ever saw.

But now? With that tiny, impossibly precious life growing inside of you? Yeah. He's whipped. Utterly, completely whipped. He wouldn't have it any other way.

Joel knows it hasn't been easy for you. Though you never complained, he can tell the pregnancy was taking its toll on you. And he's become painfully aware of everything about you, noticing every little thing—no matter how insignificant it seems. The way you wince when standing up too fast. The way you subconsciously rub your lower back if you're on your feet for too long. The way your jaw tenses when your breasts ache. The way your breath hitches when you bump into something—still not used to the new obstacle that is your rounder stomach.

He saw everything. Even when you don't want him to. Yet, you always end up letting him take care of you in the end.

It didn't take long for Joel's instincts to kick in. The second he found out you were carrying his child, his protectiveness—both for you and the baby—became overwhelming. Almost overbearingly so. He does everything in his power to make things easier for you, he barely leaves your side unless strictly necessary, or you need some time to yourself. He won't let you lift a thing, won't let you strain yourself in the slightest. He's also learned to always ask questions twice—knowing you'll tell him something along the lines of "I'm okay" or "It's not that bad" before giving in.

A part of him admires that about you, even if your stubborn independence makes him affectionately roll his eyes at times. The strength you carry with you—quiet, resilient, graceful—and the kindness you've always bore like a shield. Like no matter what the world throws at you, you refuse to break. Refuse to let it dim your light. He can only dream that your child will have even a fraction of that part of you.

Joel loves that about your pregnancy. How it's only made the already good parts of you better, somehow. Not just the physical changes—although he definitely admires those too—but in the small ways it has made you gentler. Even more precious in his eyes, which he never thought was possible. Not until you handed him that little test that looked more like a miracle than a piece of plastic.

But he can't lie—the wider hips, the fuller chest, and the rounder stomach growing his baby are also a huge bonuses. Practically makes it impossible for him to keep his hands and eyes off of you.

By the time Joel makes it back to your shared home, the late April sun has already begun to set over the mountains, casting an orange hue over the settlement. The wooden floorboards of the porch creak as his boots stomp up the stairs, announcing his arrival before he even opens the door.

When he does, he quickly shrugs off his jacket, hanging it up by the door. After stepping out of his boots and throwing his keys into the bowl on the hallway table, he immediately looks for you.

He finds you in the kitchen, back turned to him, humming some old tune quietly to yourself while wearing one of the loose sundresses that still fit. The sight makes him smile a little to himself, just the tiniest uptick of his lips beneath his beard, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe.

"You ain't s’posed to be on your feet, baby," he eventually pipes up, though there's no real chastisement in it—only a kind of teasing worry that comes from a place of love. "Need some help?"