Look, for the record, I did wrap it up.

Twice.

The second time I even fished a new one out from the emergency stash behind my Econ 203 textbook—which, yes, I haven’t opened since syllabus week—but I was feeling responsible, okay? With a personal vendetta against plan Bs because they make her nauseous.

So no, Your Honor, I didn’t try to knock up my favorite mistake. I didn’t mean to turn my situationship into a spawnship. I didn’t set out to get the girl who once made my dick do a hard reset pregnant. This was 100% the will of the almighty party man upstairs.

Now I’m at a fair on a Sunday evening.

And in front of me? My girl. Belly rounding out under her clothes. She squints up at me from under her massive sunglasses. “Everything okay?”

“Peachy,” I say, all chipper and saintly. “Just talkin’ about how glorious and divine you look, mama.”

She hums, suspicious, because she knows that tone. But she lets it slide. Her hormones are in soft lamb mode today instead of feral raccoon, so I’m working with grace for once.

“Your feet hurt yet?” I ask, motioning at the beat-up crocs she insisted on wearing because her “arches are in crisis.”

She lifts one foot off the ground like a child offering tribute. “They’re throbbing. Like, genuinely. I think I can feel my pulse in them.”

“Aww.” I crouch right there, in the middle of this chaotic ass midway, dodging a rogue funnel cake while I gently grab her ankle and press my thumbs into the arch of her foot like I’ve trained for this moment all my life. Braelie sighs so hard it blows a lock of hair out of her face.

Some dude in a backwards hat whistles low under his breath as he walks by. I shoot up like a goddamn meerkat, one hand still on her calf. “Keep walkin’, Elliott,” I snap. “Ain’t nothin’ here for you.”

He scoffs but moves. Smart man.

She giggles. “You’re so dramatic.”

“No. I’m nesting,” I say, deadpan. “I’m building a safe haven for my future heir. Who’s gonna come out the womb with a Dior bib and a custom ‘OPA Legacy’ onesie.”

She side-eyes me. “You’re not putting our child in frat merch before they can hold their own head up.”

“Why not? This baby’s gonna have seven god-uncles and at least three honorary aunties who will actively fistfight over babysitting duty. Kid’s about to be ballin’ from the crib up.”

I’m not even joking. I already had Chris price out a mini recliner for the nursery with a cup holder and Bluetooth speakers. She thinks I’m being ridiculous. But I’m just ahead of my time.

I wrap my arms around her waist when she’s satisfied with my labors.

“You know,” she murmurs, “I still can’t believe this is happening.”

“Which part? The part where I carry your purse and buy you fried Oreos every six minutes or the part where we made a whole-ass human by accident?”

She elbows me lightly. “The baby, Nathan.”

“Yeah.” I exhale through my nose. “Same. I mean, I was down catastrophic for you before, but now? Now you’re carrying the sequel to my DNA and I gotta pretend I’m not feral about it twenty-four-seven?”

She tilts her head up, eyebrow arched. “You’re feral?”

“Have you seen yourself?” I scoff. “Pregnancy looks illegal on you. Bro I used to pray for times like this, fifteen year old me knew what was up and what the fuck he wanted.” I look her up and down, little bro me would’ve loved her, especially in the middle of the night.

“I’m brainless for you babe. Mush. I bought you a four-foot bear. And I would do it again.”

“Because you’re insane.”

“Because I love you.”

“You do?” she asks, real quiet.

“Well duh, I’ve been in love with you since that party. Babe, you broke my dick, my soldier fell because he found the nation he wanted to serve between the valley of your beautiful legs, that’s never happened to a man, like ever!”