Chapter 107

The ride back to the penthouse was quiet. Emma leaned her head against the passenger-side window, one hand resting gently over her belly while Abigail drove with a protective intensity, glancing at her every few seconds like the traffic lights might conspire against them.

When they finally pulled into the garage and made their way upstairs, Abigail was out of the car first. She rounded to Emma’s side before she could even reach for the handle.

“I’ve got you,” Abigail murmured, offering her hand.

The elevator ride up to their floor had been quiet, Emma leaning heavily into Abigail’s shoulder as if the short walk from the store to the car had drained her. Abigail hadn’t minded—not one bit. She liked being leaned on.

By the time they stepped into the penthouse, Abigail was already adjusting her grip, slipping an arm behind Emma’s knees and scooping her up before she could argue.

“Abby,” Emma groaned, though there was a smile hiding in her tired voice. “I can walk, I promise.”

“Shh,” Abigail teased, nudging the door shut behind them with her hip. “Queens don’t walk when they don’t feel well. They get carried.”

Emma laughed softly, the sound muffled as she tucked her face into Abigail’s neck. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re adorable,” Abigail countered, setting her gently down onto the couch. She fluffed the throw pillows behind Emma’s back and pulled the knitted blanket over her legs with such care, it made Emma’s chest tighten.

“There,” Abigail murmured, brushing a kiss against Emma’s temple before crouching to hand her the remote. “Your throne awaits. Pick whatever you want. I’ll be right back with tea.”

Emma gave her a mock salute, though her smile was lazy, grateful. She clicked through the streaming options until a familiar rom-com filled the screen, its light, cheerful music softening the apartment’s already warm glow.

In the kitchen, Abigail moved quickly but with purpose—kettle on, mugs out, teabags ready. She sliced up some strawberries and grabbed a pack of crackers, arranging them neatly on a plate alongside the steaming mug of chamomile. Her brow furrowed as she set the tray together; she wasn’t just trying to help—she wanted Emma to feel better, completely.

When she padded back into the living room, barefoot and smiling, she carried the tray like it was sacred.

“For my girl,” Abigail announced softly, setting the tea and snacks on the coffee table. She sat down beside Emma and handed her the mug, watching carefully as Emma curled both hands around the warm ceramic.

“You’re spoiling me,” Emma whispered after her first sip, her eyes closing with contentment.

“Good,” Abigail replied, kissing her shoulder. “You deserve it.”

They sat like that for a few minutes, the movie flickering in front of them, until Abigail reached behind the couch and grabbed her laptop. She balanced it across her knees, fingers flying across the keys as she started pulling up nursery ideas—color palettes, storage options, different crib styles.

Emma glanced over at her after a few minutes, amused. “Abby… you’re really looking at baby furniture while watching a rom-com?”

Abigail grinned sheepishly without looking up. “Hey, I’m multitasking. Neutral palettes are harder to pick than I thought. Do we want beige? Or sage green? Or like, a soft gray?”

Emma chuckled, sipping her tea again. “You’re ridiculous. And maybe a little obsessed.”

“Obsessed with making everything perfect for you—and the baby,” Abigail corrected, scrolling through another set of options. She pointed at the screen. “See? This crib has hidden drawers. Genius.”

Emma let her watch for a beat, her heart full and aching at the same time. She reached out and gently touched Abigail’s arm.

“Baby?” she whispered.

Abigail hummed, still half-focused on the laptop. “Mm?”

“Can you hold me?” Emma asked softly, her eyes big and vulnerable. “Finish that later?”

The laptop froze mid-scroll as Abigail’s head snapped up. She took in the sight of Emma—blanket tucked under her chin, mug resting forgotten on the table, eyes searching for hers—and everything else faded.

“Of course,” Abigail said immediately, setting the laptop aside like it never mattered. She shifted closer and pulled Emma into her arms, wrapping her up tight.

Emma sighed as her cheek found Abigail’s chest, the steady beat of her heart grounding her more than anything else. “This is all I needed,” she murmured, voice drowsy.

Abigail kissed the top of her curls, rocking her gently. “Then this is all we’ll do. Just us. Just like this.”

The rom-com played on, its laughter and music a backdrop to their quiet cocoon. Abigail didn’t move, didn’t reach for the laptop again. She just held Emma tighter, pressing little kisses along her hairline and temple as the weight of the day melted away.

Emma’s hand drifted to her stomach, covering the small swell of her bump, and Abigail placed her own hand over it, their fingers lacing together naturally.

“Perfect,” Emma whispered.

“Perfect,” Abigail echoed, kissing her once more, slower this time—like a vow she’d never break.

The living room had gone still, the only sound the faint hum of the credits music rolling over the TV speakers. Abigail blinked awake, her neck stiff from the angle she’d been leaning in. It took her a second to realize she hadn’t moved in hours—Emma was still nestled against her chest, her curls tickling Abigail’s chin, her breath slow and even.

A smile tugged at Abigail’s lips. She didn’t care about the crick in her neck, not when the sight of Emma asleep in her arms looked so peaceful, so safe.

Carefully, so carefully, Abigail shifted. She slid an arm beneath Emma’s knees and the other behind her back, lifting her bridal-style. Emma murmured something incoherent, her head falling against Abigail’s shoulder, but she didn’t wake.

“Shh, I got you,” Abigail whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she padded softly through the dim apartment.

The bedroom was cool and quiet, the sheets neatly turned down from earlier. Abigail lowered Emma onto the mattress like she was made of glass, easing the blanket over her shoulders. Emma stirred faintly, a little sigh slipping past her lips, and Abigail brushed a stray curl from her face with the gentlest touch.

“I’ll be right back,” she murmured, as if Emma could hear her even in dreams.

In the kitchen, she grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, condensation chilling her palm. She twisted the cap loose so it would be easy to open and placed it carefully on Emma’s nightstand—ready for her if she woke in the middle of the night.

Abigail tugged off her shirt, tossing it onto the chair, and slid into bed behind her. She wrapped an arm around Emma’s waist, pulling her in close until their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces.

As if on instinct, Emma shifted in her sleep, pressing her back into Abigail’s chest, her hips tucking against her. A quiet, content sigh left her as she settled there, perfectly molded into the warmth behind her.

Abigail kissed the back of her head, breathing her in. “Goodnight, baby,” she whispered into the curls, her arm tightening just slightly around Emma’s stomach.

Emma didn’t answer, not in words—but the way her body relaxed, the way her hand brushed sleepily against Abigail’s arm before going still, was more than enough.

Abigail smiled against her hair and let her own eyes close, the world falling away until there was only this—her, Emma, and the quiet promise of another tomorrow together.