Page 78 of Knot My Type

"How did the signing go?" Rhys asks as soon as I'm out of the car, pulling me into a hug that lifts my feet off the ground.

"Really well," I tell him, breathing in his familiar scent. "Great turnout, lots of interesting conversations with readers."

"And Rebecca has news," I add, grinning at my best friend as she practically bounces on her toes.

"Jake proposed!" she blurts out, unable to contain her excitement any longer.

The response is immediate and enthusiastic—congratulations and hugs and demands to see the ring. Fen produces a bottle of champagne from seemingly nowhere (I suspect they keep emergency celebration supplies hidden around the house), and within minutes we're all settled onthe back porch, toasting Rebecca's engagement as the sun sets behind the mountains.

"So when's the wedding?" Kael asks after we've exhausted the initial round of questions about the proposal.

"That's the thing," Rebecca says, shooting me a grateful look. "We were hoping to have it here, if you don't mind. Something small and intimate in the meadow where you guys had your ceremony."

"Mind?" Rhys laughs. "We'd be insulted if you had it anywhere else."

"Absolutely," Fen agrees. "When are you thinking?"

"Spring, maybe? April or May, when everything's blooming but before it gets too hot."

"Perfect," I say, already envisioning the possibilities. "We can do wildflowers everywhere, maybe string lights in the trees. Something romantic but not too formal."

"I can handle the catering," Rhys offers immediately. "How many people are we talking about?"

"Maybe thirty? Mostly close friends and family. Jake's parents, his sister, a few college friends. My dad, obviously." She pauses, her expression growing more complex. "I haven't decided about my mother yet."

Rebecca's relationship with her mother has always been complicated—a mixture of love and frustration and fundamental incompatibility that leaves both of them walking on eggshells. The idea of including her in a wedding celebration where she'd be surrounded by unconventional relationships and choices she doesn't understand is fraught with potential difficulties.

"You don't have to decide now," I tell her gently. "You have months to figure out what feels right."

"I know. It's just I want her there because she's my mother, but I also don't want to spend my wedding day managing her opinions about my choices."

"What does Jake think?" Kael asks.

"He says it's entirely up to me, that he'll support whatever I decide. Which is sweet, but not particularly helpful when I'm trying to make an impossible choice."

"Maybe," Fen suggests thoughtfully, "the question isn't whether to invite her, but how to set boundaries if you do. Make it clear what behavior is acceptable and what isn't, and be prepared to enforce those boundaries if necessary."

It's good advice, practical and compassionate in the way that's uniquely Fen. Rebecca nods slowly, considering the suggestion.

"You're right. I can't control her reactions, but I can control what I'm willing to tolerate. If she can't be supportive, then maybe she doesn't belong at my wedding."

"Whatever you decide," I assure her, "we'll help make it work. Your wedding day should be about celebrating your love for Jake, not managing other people's issues."

The conversation flows naturally from there, touching on everything from flowers to music to the logistics of accommodating out-of-town guests. But underneath my enthusiasm for wedding planning, that subtle flutter in my abdomen continues, growing stronger and more insistent.

By the time Rebecca heads back to town and we've cleaned up from our impromptu celebration, I'm nearly certain about what's happening inside my body. The timing makes sense—it's been about six weeks since my last heat cycle, and we've never been particularly careful about prevention. We've talked about wanting children eventually, and 'eventually' has apparently become 'now.'

"You're quiet tonight," Rhys observes as we get ready for bed. "Everything okay?"

I consider telling him about my suspicions, but something holds me back. Not secrecy, exactly, but the desire to be certainbefore I change everything with a conversation that can't be taken back.

"Just processing the day," I say instead, which is true enough. "It's been a lot—the book signing, Rebecca's engagement, all the wedding planning."

He accepts this explanation, but I catch him watching me with the kind of attention that suggests he knows something is different, even if he can't identify what.

The next morning, I wake early and slip out of bed while the others are still sleeping. My office feels like the right place for this—private, peaceful, filled with the energy of creation and possibility. The pregnancy test sits in my desk drawer where I left it, waiting.

Three minutes later, I'm staring at two pink lines that confirm what my body has been trying to tell me. Pregnant. Actually, genuinely pregnant with a child who will be raised by four people who already love them more than life itself.

---