Page 176 of Pack Plus One

I look between them in disbelief. “You all knew. Before I knew.”

“To be fair, your body knew first,” Jude points out. “We just paid attention.”

Caleb’s arm wraps around my waist, his palm splaying protectively over my still-flat stomach. “Is this truly okay?” he asks quietly. “All of it?”

I place my hand over his, feeling the warmth of his skin against mine. A year ago, I would have balked at the very ideaof pregnancy, of being tied to one place, one person—or in this case, four people—for the rest of my life.

But now, surrounded by my pack, their excitement and love washing over me in waves, I can’t imagine wanting anything else.

“It’s more than okay,” I tell him, reaching out to include the others in our embrace. “It’s perfect.”

They move as one, enveloping me in a group hug that should feel suffocating but somehow just feels like home.

“So,” Jude says once we’ve all had our moment, “who gets dibs on godfather status? Because I’ve already practiced my Marlon Brando impression.”

“That’s not how pack dynamics work,” Liam informs him with exaggerated patience. “All of us will share equal responsibility for the child’s welfare and upbringing.”

“Fine, but I still want it on record that I’ll be the fun dad,” Jude insists. “The one who teaches them how to burp the alphabet and sneak cookies before dinner.”

“Noted,” Mason says dryly. “I’ll be the one teaching them financial responsibility.”

“And I’ll handle educational development,” Liam adds.

Caleb shakes his head, but his smile is fond. “And I’ll protect them from all of you,” he says, pressing a kiss to my temple. “And from anyone else who might threaten our family.”

“They’ll be the most loved, most prepared, most ridiculous child on the planet,” I laugh, overwhelmed with happiness.

Later that evening, after the initial excitement has settled into comfortable certainty, I find Caleb in the spare room adjacent to the nest, tape measure in hand as he studies the walls with intense concentration.

“Planning something?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe.

He jumps slightly, caught in the act. “Just... measuring. For shelves.”

“Shelves,” I repeat, fighting a smile. “Not, say, a crib? Or changing table?”

He has the grace to look sheepish. “Maybe those too.”

I cross the room to wrap my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek against his broad back. “You’re going to build the nursery yourself, aren’t you?”

“We all are,” he corrects, turning to face me. “Liam’s already sketched designs for a mobile that plays classical music and emits soothing light patterns based on some research about infant cognitive development.”

“Of course he has,” I laugh. “And let me guess—Jude wants to paint a mural?”

“Space dinosaurs wearing party hats,” Caleb confirms, his expression perfectly serious. “Mason vetoed the initial design for being ‘chaotic.’”

“So they compromised on...?”

“Space dinosaurs wearing party hats.”

I shake my head, loving them all so fiercely it hurts. “Our child is going to be the weirdest kid in preschool.”

“Probably,” Caleb agrees, his hand finding its now-familiar place over my stomach. “But they’ll always know they’re loved.”

“By four ridiculous fathers and one slightly less ridiculous mother,” I add.

“Who’s running a successful bakery, I might add,” he says with obvious pride. “I think Sweet Omega has even increased sales for Le Roux. Did Liam show you the quarterly reports?”

“He did,” I confirm. “Though I’m more excited about the early strawberries he scored. I’ve been craving strawberry shortcake for days.”

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