“Yum. That smells good.”

My wife paused by the stove, taking a deep sniff. I reached for a piece of my famous Bougie Bacon from the plate on the warmer and held it up.

“Want a bite?”

She fastened me with the same withering glare that had been making me hot for three years now. “You know I do. Give it to me, buddy. Give it to me now.”

I waggled my eyebrows. “Button, don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“Who says I can’t finish it?” she countered.

“I do. You know you’re not going to be late for work. Your boss will kill you.”

“Yeah, my boss is a real hardass,” Charlotte agreed. “Some people say she can be a little bit controlling, but you know, I kind of like her ideas. And her husband . . . well, he’s not only super hot, but he’s a genius in the kitchen.”

I laughed. “I was hoping you were going to end that sentence differently, but okay, I’ll take the compliment.” I lifted the bacon to her mouth. “Open up, Button.”

She parted her lips and took a bite, moaning. “So damn good.”

I swallowed hard as the sound went right to my cock. “You know, being your own boss means you actually could be late to the office.”

“Sadly, not today. I have an important meeting with my best client.” She leaned up to kiss my cheek. “Plus you need to clean up from the breakfast crowd before it’s time to turn over the rooms.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I caught her hand. “Hey, Button. Love you.”

“Love you, too, primetime.” She paused, glancing over her shoulder, an odd expression on her face. “Oh, will you do me a favor? I sent you an email with a spreadsheet I need you to review. Could you grab your laptop and look at it right away? I need your impressions as soon as possible.”

“Uh, sure. Is it taxes or something?”

She smiled. “Or something. See you in a bit.”

I looked around the kitchen, gauging where I was in my morning routine. Running the Hawthorne House wasn’t always easy, but it was a job I loved, even though I had never expected to become a bed and breakfast proprietor. When Jude Holt, Charlotte’s cousin, had called me about six months after Pops and Peyton got married, I had been shocked to hear she wanted me to consider taking on the management of her beloved Hawthorne House.

But it made sense: Charlotte and I had already been talking about the possibility of moving to the Cove. She wanted to open her own law office, and there were opportunities in the Cove that we didn’t have in Savannah. I had begun looking for a restaurant that needed a head chef, but Jude’s offer intrigued me.

And as Uncle Reggie liked to say, when the universe hands you a gift, everything tends to fall into place quickly. Within a short span of time, Charlotte had found space for her office, and the two of us moved to the Cove. Six months later, we got married on the same beach where our parents had tied the knot.

I still had a few minutes this morning before guests would begin checking out, so I pulled out my laptop and opened up my mail app, searching for the email Charlotte had asked me to review. When I found it, I clicked open the attached spreadsheet and began looking it over.

It only took me a second to realize that the spreadsheet was one she’d been sending me occasionally from the time our relationship had begun–our real relationship, that is. It was based on a joke I’d made about her organizing her romantic life on a spreadsheet. To tease me, she’d sent me this spreadsheet with columns detailing all the things I’d done right as well as the areas that needed improvement. It was never serious or hurtful; on the contrary, Charlotte often used the spreadsheet to make fun of her own shortcomings or to apologize for some small misunderstanding.

So I was already smiling as I reviewed the sheet, checking out the headings from way back when we’d begun dating as well as the more recent additions.

But a new one caught my eye right away. It was in bold print, with colored letters in pink and blue spelling out the words.

Proficiency in knocking up wife

I blinked, positive I must be misreading it. With my heart pounding, I ran my finger down the column until I came to a row with an entry.

Highly proficient, with admirable extra effort. Results available for review in mid-December.

“Oh my God,” I breathed. “Holy–where is my phone?”

“It’s right here.” Charlotte strolled into the kitchen, holding my cell. “Did you need to call someone?”

“Button.” I swooped her into my arms, holding her tight. “Are you sure? Is this for real? We’re having a baby?”

“Yes, yes, and oh, definitely, yes.” She grinned up at me. “Surprise.”

“We weren’t even really trying yet.” I leaned down to kiss my wife. “Hey, I guess we really are highly proficient, huh?”

“Of course, we are.” She snuggled up against me. “We have our dream life, Max. I can’t imagine being any happier than I am right now–but I have a feeling that I’ll change my mind in December. I can’t wait to meet our baby.”

“She–or he–is going to be the luckiest child in the world with you as a mom, Button.” I smoothed back her hair. “I love you. Every day, I think I can’t love you any more than I do . . . and then the next day dawns, and somehow, our love only grows.”

“And grows,” she laughed, curling her arm around her still-flat stomach. “The growing is going to be real obvious over the next few months!”

“You’ll still be the most beautiful woman in the world,” I assured her. “Hey, I thought you had a meeting with your most important client this morning.”

“I do,” she replied. “And here I am, meeting with him. I was hoping he’d like to meet upstairs in our bedroom . . . because sometimes my most important client misbehaves, you know.”

I lifted her into my arms. “Your most important client is ready to begin our meeting. Get ready for some serious misbehavior, Button.”

She lay her head on my chest and sighed happily.

“Bring it on. Bring it all on.”