“I’m starting to think this crib was designed by someone who hates parents.”

Jubal looks up from the instruction manual spread across his thigh, his eyebrows lifting as I turn another wooden piece over in my hands. “Considering you haven’t let me put two pieces together yet, I’m not sure how you’ve reached that conclusion.”

“Because there are approximately four hundred screws on this floor, and the instructions have six pictures. Six, Jubal. There are more steps involved in assembling a sandwich.”

He glances at the hardware I’ve separated into little piles beside me, then back at the manual. “You want to trade jobs?” 

I consider the wooden rails arranged around him before looking down at my increasingly inconvenient stomach. It’s become an obstacle between me and just about everything I want to do. Getting onto the nursery floor didn’t seem like such a terrible idea twenty minutes ago. Jubal offered to bring in a chair, but I insisted I could sit on the floor like a perfectly normal person. Now I’m leaning against the wall with a pillow wedged behind my lower back, and I’m fairly certain getting up will require a combination of assistance and divine intervention.

“Absolutely not. I’m management.”

“Of course you are, Pea.”

He reaches for one of the longer rails and holds it against the end panel, studying the instructions with his eyebrows drawn together. His glasses have slipped down his nose, and his T-shirt pulls tight across his shoulders when he leans forward to line up the holes. I should check the diagram to make sure he has the right piece, but between the glasses and those gray sweatpants, I’m finding it difficult to concentrate on anything other than my husband. 

“Are you helping, or are you staring at me?”

I look up to find Jubal watching me with a knowing smile. Apparently, I haven’t been particularly subtle. 

“Multitasking.”

“Uh-huh.” He holds out his hand. “Give me four of the short bolts.”

I sort through the hardware beside my leg, checking the lengths before dropping four bolts into his palm. Instead of pulling away, Jubal catches my hand and leans toward me, and I can’t help smiling as I meet him halfway. His scruff scratches lightly against my fingertips as I slide my free hand along his jaw, pulling him closer. Even after all these years, he can still make me forget what we’re supposed to be doing. I’d happily abandon the crib for a while, but when I try shifting closer, the uncomfortable pressure against my thighs forces me to pull back. 

Jubal draws back just enough to give me room. “You okay?”

“I’m trying to kiss my husband, but apparently I need to submit a formal request to the tiny person occupying my abdomen.”

“She’s already running the house.” 

“She gets that from you.”

“Me?” He raises his eyebrows, looking entirely too innocent for a man who knows exactly how stubborn he can be. 

“You heard me.”

He kisses me again before I can elaborate, and this time I curl my fingers into his shirt to keep him there. His hand settles against the side of my neck as he takes his time kissing me. I wish I could climb into his lap the way I used to, but my stomach gets in the way when I try to pull him closer. Jubal adjusts without breaking the kiss until I can lean against him comfortably, and I tighten my grip on his shirt. 

“What?” 

“I was just wondering if management wants to take a break.”

I narrow my eyes at him, although it’s difficult to look threatening when I’m still holding on to his shirt. The offer is tempting, but I glance past his shoulder at the wooden rails waiting to be assembled. I want to finish this with him today so we can stand in front of our daughter’s crib tonight and imagine her sleeping in it, knowing we put it together ourselves.

“Management wants her crib assembled before our daughter arrives.”

“Then management should probably let go of the employee.”

I glance down at my hand, still clutching his shirt, before reluctantly releasing him. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Jubal grins as he settles back in front of the crib pieces. “I’m counting on it, Pea.”

Jubal reaches for one of the rails, and I lean forward to grab the instruction manual before he starts putting pieces together without me. Unfortunately, our daughter has other ideas, sending a sharp jab beneath my ribs that makes me stop halfway.

Jubal immediately sets the rail down. “What happened?”

“Your daughter has apparently decided she doesn’t have enough room in there.”

I press my palm against the right side of my belly, hoping she’ll move away from the spot she’s been attacking all afternoon. Instead, she stretches against my hand, pushing harder beneath my ribs until I have to lean back against the pillow. I love this little girl more than I know what to do with, but I’d appreciate it if she’d stop using my organs to rearrange herself.

“Maybe we should get you off the floor, Pea.” He gives me a look that makes it clear he’s not convinced I’m comfortable. 

“I’m fine, Old Man. I just need her to stop trying to make herself another exit.”

His mouth twitches, but instead of arguing, he reaches for the water bottle beside my knee and twists the cap loose before handing it over. While I take a drink, he adjusts the pillow behind me until I can lean back without putting so much pressure on my lower spine.

“Better?”

“Much.” I settle against the pillow, relieved when the ache eases enough that I can take a full breath. 

Jubal presses a kiss to my forehead, but before he can move away, I catch his hand.

“Thank you.”

“Always, Pea.”

I look at him, wishing I could make him understand how much I mean it. I hate that something as simple as sitting on the floor has become difficult, especially when there’s so much I still want to do before our daughter arrives. But he hasn’t once made me feel like I’m asking too much, even when I get frustrated with myself for needing help. My throat tightens, and I shake my head at myself. Apparently, being pregnant means I can get emotional over a pillow, too.

“I love you, Old Man.”

His expression softens as he brings my hand to his mouth and kisses my knuckles. “Love you too, Pea.”

Before I can let go of his hand, our daughter gives another determined shove beneath my ribs. 

“Oh, she’s moving again.” 

Jubal’s attention immediately drops to my stomach, and I guide his hand to where she’s pushing against me. Naturally, she goes still the moment he’s paying attention. 

“Come on, sweetheart. You were just trying to kick your way out of there.”

I laugh as he waits, his palm warm against my stomach. Just when I’m about to tell him she’s given up, she kicks hard enough that I feel his fingers move.

“There you are,” he murmurs, grinning as he bends to kiss my belly. “Hey, sweetheart.”

I watch him, already wishing I could see the expression on his face when he holds her for the first time. I’ve imagined him sitting in the nursery chair with our daughter tucked against his chest, talking to her in that same gentle voice. In a few weeks, I won’t have to imagine it anymore, and the thought makes me want to reach forward and pull him into my arms.

“Be nice to your mama, sweetheart. She’s doing all the hard work.”

Our daughter responds with another kick, and Jubal laughs as he lifts his head. I push his glasses back up his nose, smiling when he catches my hand and presses a kiss to my palm.

“She’s going to have you wrapped around her little finger.”

“Going to?” He raises his eyebrows. “Pea, I’m already there.”

Jubal gives my belly one last gentle rub before settling beside me again, and I rest my head against his shoulder as we look at the unfinished crib. After spending months getting everything ready for her arrival, it’s hard to believe we’re finally so close to bringing her home. As excited as I am to bring her home, I’m starting to get nervous about what happens afterward. Right now, she’s safe inside me, and every little movement reminds me she’s okay. But soon she’ll be here, depending on us for everything, and I can’t help wondering what happens when she needs something I don’t know how to give her. 

“You okay, baby?”

“Yeah. Just thinking about how different everything’s going to be in a few weeks.”

“Good different, I hope.”

“The best kind.” I smile, but my fingers tighten around his. “I’m just nervous about getting it right.”

Jubal doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looks down at our hands, rubbing his thumb across my knuckles before meeting my eyes again. “Me too, Pea. I’ve never been somebody’s dad before.”

Hearing him say that makes my throat tighten. He’s seemed so sure of himself throughout this pregnancy that I hadn’t considered he might be nervous, too. I squeeze his hand, wishing I thought to ask him how he was feeling instead of assuming he had everything figured out.

“She’s going to be lucky to have you.” 

“She’s going to be lucky to have us.”

I lean toward him, and he meets me halfway, kissing me with one hand resting against my cheek. When he pulls back, I rest my forehead against his and hold on for another moment. Our daughter shifts beneath my ribs, reminding me she has opinions about how long we’re allowed to sit here doing nothing.

Jubal laughs when I press a hand against my stomach. “She’s getting impatient.”

“She can get in line.” I glance toward the crib pieces still scattered around us. “Her father has a job to finish.”

“Pretty sure her father has a supervisor who’s been distracting him all afternoon.”

I give him a look, but I can’t keep from smiling as he reaches for the instruction manual. He’s right, of course, although I have no intention of admitting it.

“Come on, Old Man. Let’s get this thing put together.”

It takes us another minute to figure out which holes are supposed to line up. When Jubal finally tightens the first bolt into place, I can’t help smiling at the sight of the two pieces joined together. We still have a lot left to assemble, but I run my fingers along the smooth wood and imagine the day we’ll lower our daughter into the crib we built for her. 

“Okay, I need you to hold this end up for me.”

I look at the rail Jubal is trying to position against the headboard, then at the instructions resting beside my leg. “Are you sure that’s where it goes?”

“That’s what the picture says.”

“The picture also makes it look like the screws are supposed to go in from the other side.”

Jubal adjusts his glasses as he leans closer to study the diagram. After a moment, he looks back at the rail and turns it around. “Don’t say a word, Pea.”

I bite back a laugh and reach for the end of the rail. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Working together gets a little easier once we figure out which direction everything is supposed to face. Jubal holds the heavier pieces in place while I keep track of the hardware, occasionally stopping to check the instructions when something doesn’t fit quite right. When he finishes securing the second rail, he gives it a gentle tug before sitting back on his heels. He steadies the piece while I run my fingers along the inside edge.

“No sharp spots.” 

“Good, because the last thing we need is her getting hurt on something we put together.”

I nod and check the other side before letting him move it. I’ve spent enough time working with children to know how quickly something that seems harmless can become a problem, although most of the kids I see are old enough to tell me when something hurts. With our daughter, we’re going to have to learn what she needs long before she has the words to explain it. 

Jubal catches me studying the rail and smiles. “Are you inspecting my work again?”

“Someone has to make sure you’re following safety regulations.”

“Should’ve known marrying a counselor meant I’d spend the rest of my life being evaluated.”

“That’s not how counseling works, Old Man.”

He laughs, and I hand him the next bolt before he can come up with another argument. I love my work as a childhood grief counselor, even on the days when I come home wishing I could do more for the kids I see. I know what it’s like to lose your mother when you’re young and watch everyone around you keep living while you’re still trying to understand how completely your world has changed. I can’t take that pain away from them, but I can give them a place where they don’t have to pretend they’re okay or worry about making someone else uncomfortable with their grief. On the hard days when their stories stay with me long after I’ve left the office, Jubal knows when I need to talk and when I’d rather have him make me laugh. 

“Your fingers are swelling again, Pea.” 

He takes the bolt from my hand, but instead of pulling away, his thumb brushes over my wedding ring. I glance down at our hands, noticing the faint indentation where the band is pressing into my swollen finger.

“I know. I might have to take my rings off soon.”

“Could always wear them around your neck.”

I look up at him, smiling. “Like you did with Mom’s ring?”

“Kept it safe, didn’t I?”

I run my thumb over my wedding band, remembering the first time I saw my mother’s ring hanging from the chain around his neck. Finding out he’d been carrying it with him affected me more than I knew how to tell him. At the time, I was still trying to figure out what I wanted my life to look like, and there was Jubal, making room for me in his before either of us knew what we were becoming.

Jubal’s fingers close gently around mine, and when I look up, he’s watching me with the same tenderness that still manages to catch me off guard after ten years. “Thinking about your mom?”

I nod, turning his hand over so I can trace the edge of his wedding band. “I wish she could see us.”

“Me too, Pea.”

I lean toward him, grateful that he’s never treated missing Mom like something I should have gotten over by now. He understands I can be happy with the life we have and still wish she were here to share it. 

I glance down at our rings again, smiling a little. “I guess that chain worked out pretty well for both of us.”

Jubal smiles and leans in to kiss me. I meet him halfway, resting my hand against his cheek as his scruff brushes against my palm. He slips an arm around me, drawing me as close as my stomach will allow, and I smile against his mouth. Ten years together, and he still kisses me like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. I take my time kissing him back, reluctant to let the moment end, but eventually he pulls away and rests his forehead against mine.

“Think we can finish this before dinner?”

“Depends on whether you keep distracting your supervisor.”

“I’m starting to think your supervisor has a thing for me.”

“She’s been putting up with you for a decade. Clearly, her judgment is questionable.”

He laughs as he reaches for the next piece, and I shift against my pillow to make room for him. The nursery window overlooks the backyard, and I can see the fence Dad helped us repair last spring. He insisted we didn’t need to hire anyone and proceeded to spend an entire Saturday arguing with Jubal about the best way to replace two damaged boards. 

“Dad asked if we wanted to come over for dinner tomorrow.” 

“Sounds good. We can walk over if you’re feeling up to it.”

“I’m pregnant, Jubal, not incapable of walking down the street.”

“I know, Pea.” He gives me an amused look. “Just figured I’d ask before your feet decide they hate you again.”

I glance down at my ankles, which have been swelling by the end of most days lately. “Fair enough.”

I smile as he goes back to work. Dad tried to act like he didn’t care where we bought a house, but the moment we mentioned this neighborhood, he suddenly had opinions about everything. I love that he’s become such a regular part of our lives, and watching him get excited about becoming a grandfather has been one of my favorite parts of this pregnancy. He’s already talking about taking our daughter to the park and teaching her everything he knows about football, although I’m fairly certain he and Jubal are going to disagree about how that should be done. I wish Mom could be here to experience this with him, but seeing how much joy he’s finding in the family we’re building means more to me than I can explain. 

I turn back to Jubal as he struggles to balance the next wooden panel against his knee. He holds out his hand for another bolt, and I pass it to him while he carefully lines up the pieces. The man who can walk onto a football field with thousands of people watching him is currently losing an argument with a piece of furniture.

“Need some help, Old Man?”

He gives the panel another nudge before looking at me. “I’ve got it, Pea.”

“Good, because I’d hate for you to pull something before the Super Bowl.”

Jubal laughs as he finally gets the bolt threaded into place. “Pretty sure I can manage a crib without injuring myself.”

“That’s what you said about putting together the dresser.”

“That dresser was defective.”

He grins at me before reaching for the screwdriver, and I steady the rail while he tightens the bolt. I watch him work, thinking about how different our days will look once football is no longer part of his schedule. For ten years, I’ve watched him pour himself into a game he loves, and I’ve been proud of him through every season. There have been incredible moments, but there have also been injuries, disappointments, and days when I wished I could make things easier for him. Now he’s preparing for another Super Bowl, knowing it will be the last game of his career.

I want him to win. More than anything, I want him to walk off that field knowing how proud I am of everything he’s accomplished, regardless of the outcome. We’ve talked about retirement enough that I know he’s ready, and I love how excited he is about being home with our daughter. Football will always be a part of who he is, but he’s ready to discover what life looks like without having to plan everything around it. 

“Last bolt, Pea.”

I look down at the hardware beside me and pick it up, smiling as I place it in his waiting hand. He secures the last piece before giving the crib a careful shake, then sits back on his heels with a satisfied grin. “Not bad for an old man.”

“I was beginning to think we’d have to call in professional help.”

He laughs and gets to his feet, offering me both hands. I let him pull me up, although getting my balance takes a moment, and he keeps his hands at my waist until I’m steady. For a moment, I can’t do anything but look at the crib. We’ve spent months preparing for our daughter, but seeing the place where she’ll sleep makes me ache to hold her. His arms slip around me from behind, and I rest my hands over his as they settle against my stomach.

“We did good, Old Man.” 

Jubal rests his chin against the top of my head, his arms tightening around me as we admire our handiwork. “Yeah, Pea. We really did.”

I lean back against his chest, smiling as I take in the nursery. In a few weeks, our daughter will be here. I can already picture Jubal pacing the nursery with her in his arms and telling her stories while I pretend to be asleep in the chair. He’ll spoil her rotten, and I’ll spend half my time reminding him that being adorable doesn’t mean she gets away with everything. Although, knowing how easily that man can talk me into just about anything, I doubt I’ll be much better. 

“Love you, Pea,” he murmurs against my hair.

“Love you too, Old Man.”

I thread my fingers through his as we look around the nursery we’ve spent months preparing. I wish I could tell the woman I was ten years ago that she doesn’t have to be afraid of what comes next. She’ll find work she loves and discover that the future she once imagined for herself isn’t the only one worth having. Most of all, I wish she knew that one day she’d have a family of her own with a man who makes her feel loved every single day.

Maybe I needed to find those things out for myself, because I wouldn’t have believed anyone who told me this was where I’d end up. I look up at Jubal, and he catches me watching him before pressing a kiss to my temple. Ten years ago, I had no idea what I was getting into when I met him, but if I had the chance to do it all over again, I’d choose him every single time.