Beau’s southern gentlemanliness paired with you being pregnant with his kid made him a really protective guy. He benched you off any and all activities mildly strenuous, had bought a dozen fatherhood and pregnancy books, got as much of your cravings as you wanted and then some. Everything was baby proofed. Pregnancy proofed.

You weren’t allowed to touch knives anymore. Every bit of cooking was done by him. If he was at work and couldn’t check up on you, he called Cassie, Jenny, Carla, Denise or Emily, hell, even Poppernak.

“Good mornin’, gorgeous.” Beau rumbled, sorting out his hedgehog hair as he padded into the living room in his pyjama pants. He saw you in your mini maternity dress and instantly walked up to you, taking a look at you cause oh, sexy mama, you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Beau hummed, looking at how soft you’d become; in the mood to chastise you for getting out of bed without him so he could help you, but then he saw you and admired you for the beauty you were. “Slept ok?”

Beau gave you a small smile, letting his hands touch you like a piece of porcelain, eyes full of love, and care. He was already smitten with you, and loved you with all his heart, but seeing you as Mrs Arlen with his baby made him your lapdog. No way did you do anything on his watch.

He even called you Mrs Sheriff sometimes.