I pick up the socks I left on the floor and toss them in the basket before sitting on the edge of the bed.
The bathroom door opens, and Liz slides into our bedroom with a smile that shows off the small gap between her front teeth. Damn, I love that gap.
"It takes two minutes," she says, and hops on the bed next to me, resting her chin on my shoulder.
"So … " I say, then gulp to push away the damn nerves. "Two more minutes, then we gotta call our parents and let them know Wanda will be here in nine months."
Her head tilts to the side. "Wanda?"
"What's wrong with Wanda?"
"Wanda Wangford."
"Yeah … "
She shakes her head. "No. That one is off the table."
I laugh. "Okay, what would you name her?"
"What makes you think it's a her?"
"Oh, I had a chat with the guys after the last time." I point to my crotch. "Daddy wants a girl, so I told the fellas to back off and let the ladies go first."
"You know, I actually believe you did that."
"So what would you name her?"
"Lavender."
"Lavender? Isn't that a color?"
"So … ?"
"Better idea … let's name her Periwinkle," I tease, and she pushes my shoulder. "Or Mahogany. Turquoise. Cerulean. Ocher."
"How the hell do you know all those colors?"
"You made me go through about a thousand of them when we painted that one wall."
"What if your boys didn't listen?" She blinks her bright green eyes. She doesn't look as scared anymore. Actually excited. I squeeze her hand twice 'cause I'm feeling the excitement too.
"Wally," I say, and she gives me the same look I got with Wanda.
"What is it with you and the W names?"
"Okay, what's yours?"
"Lucas."
"What's with you and the L names?"
"I like the Ls." She pokes my chest. "Landon." She points at herself. "Liz." Then slowly, holding her breath, she drags her finger down to her stomach. She sort of cradles it, and I have the urge to do the same. To kiss her belly button. To press my ear to her skin and strain to hear the buzz of a heartbeat. I take in a breath, realizing that I too was holding it.
"Lucas," I say, setting my hand on her leg.
"Or Lavender." She sticks her tongue out, and I laugh.
"All right, Tumbles. I like the L theme." I reach out to tickle her, but she slides off the bed. Guess it's been two minutes.
I throw myself back on the mattress, rest my head on my hands, and call after her, "And we can have lots of runts running around and no shortage of names. Lydia, Lisa, Laura, Lance, Levi, Leon-"
"Well, you're going to have to wait," she says, stepping inside the room. I sit up just as she chucks the pregnancy stick into the garbage. "Nothing yet."
Something sinks in my gut, somewhat shocking me. I guess … I guess I was hoping for a positive. Holy shit.
Liz gives me a tiny smile and folds into herself. It feels different from last time. We're married now. This is my wife, and I know she wants to be a mother. I want to give that to her. And selfishly, I want to give that to myself, too.
"I really need to get a refund on those birth-control pills," she jokes. I get up and close the gap between us, wrapping my gorgeous wife in my arms. Her hands lock behind my back, and I feel her smile against my T-shirt. I love that I can do that for her. "I'll call the doctor tomorrow," she says. "Find out what other options there are. Seriously … "
"We could always use a condom."
"No offense, but it's just not the same with a bag on it."
"Tell me about it."
She laughs against me, and I take in a shaky breath, give her two tight squeezes, and wait for her to squeeze back once. She does within almost the same second.
"What if instead of going to the doctor I take you out?"
"Landon … " She leans from my hold and gives me a look. "You know that if you're funny and sweet and romantic on that date we're going to have to 'put a bag on it.' "
"What if we didn't?"
"I don't trust those pills."
"I know."
"And you don't want me to go to the doctor."
"Right."
Her green eyes widen, and a glint of hope flickers behind them. I want to kiss the apples of her cheeks, hold her in the palms of my hands, and capture that gaze forever and bask in the fact that I put it there.
"You … you want to try?"
"Yeah."
"You think we're ready?"
"Absolutely not."
She lets out a soft laugh and I cup her cheeks, hold this angel of mine in my hands just like I wanted to, and she grasps on to my forearms.
"I don't think anyone's ever ready," I say, "but I want to give you a baby."
She smiles, revealing that gap. "I want to give you a baby."
"Then I think we should start right away, don't you?" I hoist her over my shoulder, feeling pretty damn awesome that I don't drop her when I feel her hands jam down the back of my pants and grab my ass so hard I'm pretty sure she leaves marks.
I toss her on the bed just to watch her boobs bounce as she lands. She's on my belt in a flash, and I'm kissing the pulse on her neck.
"Let's make up for all those times we could've done it while we were engaged," she says, ripping my belt off. "Think you're up for the challenge?"
"Sex every day till you get pregnant?" I laugh against her throat. "I'll bet you the names you back out."
She pauses in her frantic movements to get my clothes off, leans back, and gives me that look of competitiveness I find sexy as hell. We'll go with the L names, I know it because she has me whipped to the bone, but I feel pretty damn victorious when she dips her hand into my pants and grins.
"I hope Lord Landon is ready to set up camp in the Land of Liz."
Dedicated to anyone who is married to someone who leaves their socks on the floor, and you love them anyway.
Acknowledgments
Look, Mom! I wrote a book about what happens after the Happily Ever After. And it was kind of naughty. But like you told that lady in the middle of the Smith's book section, you like that stuff. So I hope I didn't make you blush too hard when you read about Liz's adventures in Chocolateville.
My career would be nothing without my readers. To those of you who bought this book, thank you, and I hope that I made you laugh at least once.
And on the very long shot that she reads this book … Taylor Swift, you rock. I adore you. And I hope you don't mind that I described Liz after your cute self.
My Awesome Nerds are the best people in the world. Not only do your reviews and enthusiasm get my butt off my couch and into my writing chair, but you always send me lots of pictures of hot guys in glasses. Mmmm … love those bespectacled men! You guys get me. *does Mockingjay salute*
There are many people who dug me out of the "THIS BOOK SUCKS!" hole that I constantly threw myself into during the drafting of this book. It would be wrong to not acknowledge their unbelievable patience and understanding with a crazy woman like me. Lenore, Theresa, Jolene, Rachel, Suzi, and Jessica … pretty sure you saved this book from going into the trash on a daily basis.
Shout-out to my critique partners and betas for reading this book in lightning speed because whenever I have a deadline, I cut it super close. Kelley, Jolene, Carol, and Ashlei, thank you for not laughing at all my little notes in the middle of sentences and for fixing whatever New York reference I had that made no sense. And an extra shout-out to Beth for coming up with the "delayed gratification" line that made it through every edit of this thing. (Because it was hilarious.)
I'm also a very lucky duck, because I get to work with the most AMAZING publishing team. Sue Grimshaw, you are the goddess of editors. To my publicist and my marketing gurus, you are absolutely kickbutt. And of course, my copy editors are the best ever. Can't tell you how many times I accidentally wrote "boob" instead of "book." Though … that might've worked in this one …
Special high fives to my super agent, Rachel Stout, who worked with me through many, many emails and is always enthusiastic … and a GIANT thank-you for saying the best thing ever about Landon when reading this book.
My sister Jenny is the greatest because not only does she read my books, she rereads them and calls me in the middle of the night to tell me how awesome I am. I bet she's making up for all the tickling she did to me growing up.
My kids are a wonderful support. The oldest has taken the job of "Informer," so every time I go to the office to write, he comes in with a handful of offenses his brother and sister have done since I left the room. My middle child is now the "Screamer" and has taken it upon himself to randomly scream his vocal cords into oblivion whenever I finally get a dose of inspiration. And my youngest, the "Dumper," has decided that every time I sit down to write … she must poop. A very stinky poop. And then sit right next to me while I try to train my nose into thinking it's imaginary. You guys are great at your jobs. Maybe find other talents for this next book. Like "The Mute."