Finally, he said tautly, “You mean it?”
“I wouldn’t make this kind of bad joke. I’m having a baby; it’s a fact. I know it’s not ideal, but it happened. I didn’t plan it, but I realize some people aren’t cut out to be parents and—”
“Whoa. Wait a sec. Give me a minute to catch up. Okay?” He was staring at her in wonder. “You’re for real?”
“Yes. For real. Near as I can tell, I’m due late summer, or probably early fall.”
“I thought you didn’t want any more kids.” He pulled her into a sitting position, the sleeping bag falling open.
“I don’t know how I feel. My kids are nearly grown and though it’s been great, it’s also been a pain and now . . . just when they’re about out of the house . . . to start all over? With diapers and breast-feeding and late night feedings, and then toilet training and preschool and bratty friends and snooty mothers, most of whom are fifteen years younger than me?” She shivered and pulled the sleeping bag over her bare shoulders.
He froze. “Are you saying you don’t want the baby?”
“No, no, of course not! But you and I never discussed kids. You had a hard enough time getting me to say I’d marry you, and now we’re talking about sleepless nights and colic and teething and bottles, then baby food. It’s been so long since I’ve been through it, it’s probably all changed.”
A slow smile was spreading across his jaw, his teeth white against his skin in the half-light, his arms surrounding her more tightly. “You’re sure?”
“Four pregnancy tests. Four. I wasn’t going to tell you until I was certain.”
He suddenly grabbed her shoulders and kissed her again. Hard this time. “This,” he said once he lifted his head, “is the best damn news I’ve ever had.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
She held him at arm’s length. “Honestly? I just want to make sure. If you don’t see yourself as a father, if this isn’t what you had planned for your life . . . Raising kids is a major responsibility, and I—”
“What do I look like?” He was grinning like a fool.
Her heart soared. “Happy?”
“Very happy. God, Pescoli, I’m stoked. What do I have to do to show you, run outside naked, whooping in the snow?”
“That I’d like to see,” she said.
He kissed her, his arms wrapping around her shoulders and dragging her close. Sighing, she let her worries slide away.
“We need to get married,” he said. “Soon.”
“Don’t worry, my father’s not around and I don’t even know if he ever owned a shotgun. It’s not as if this is the first time this happened. You’d think by now that I would know how to keep this from happening.”
“You do.”
“What?” She hit his chest.
“I’m just saying that at some level we both wanted this without saying so, and we became less vigilant. And I’m glad. I love you,” he added gently.
“Hmmm,” she said, mollified. “Wait until I’m eight months pregnant and big as a whale or when we’re at a soccer game for Little Santana and they think I’m the kid’s grandma.”
“Football, and you’ll be the sexiest damn old lady rooting on the sidelines.”
“Nice,” she mocked.
“I’ve always had a thing for older women.”
“You’re digging yourself a deeper and deeper hole, you know.”
“Why don’t we elope?” he suggested. “This weekend.”