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“You haven’t seen anything yet, baby.” He led me through a row of tangling vines to the middle of the entire greenhouse where a white blanket was spread out on the ground. A basket sat in the middle with two glasses hanging out of it.
“Is that for us?”
The grin on his face answered before he did. “Eventually. We have business to attend to first.”
“Oh?”
“When I said I was no expert strawberry picker, I wasn’t kidding. I’ve never been in a field in my life. You’re the pro here. How about giving me a lesson?”
His grin was infectious. “Well, it’s not that hard. Watch closely.” I pulled him to a crouching level beside me. Pointing to the vine, I reached for the plump red berry in front of me. “You see this?” When he nodded, I clasped my hands around it and pulled. “You pull it and it magically releases. Now wait, here’s the difficult part.” I hovered my hand over the bucket, letting go as it hit the bottom with a thud. “Now seriously, it’s a family secret. You can’t tell anyone.”
He winked and leaned in. “I promise it’ll be our little secret.”
Crinkling up my nose, I dusted my lips against his. “I trust you.”
***
An hour and four red hands later, we sat on the blanket, leaned back on our elbows, soaking in the heat of the noon sun as it filtered through the greenhouse dome. Julian poured the sparkling grape juice into the wine glasses, and we toasted to old and new traditions, when the thought crept back into my head.
“Julian?”
With his head still thrown back, he mumbled a response. “Hmmm?”
“Is this it?”
Opening one eye, he squinted in my direction. “You expected a parade?”
I slapped his arm. “At home, you seemed like we’d be late for something huge. I get you paid for our time here, but what would a few extra minutes have cost us?”
Taking a deep breath, he sat up, and took my hand into his. “Well, I guess this is as a good of a time as any. I have to confess something.”
“Confess isn’t a word I like, Julian.”
Laughing, he lowered his voice. “No, nothing like that. I have to confess that I did, in fact, have ulterior motives in getting you here.”
“Oh?”
“First of all, let me remind you that you did, in fact, agree to marry me.”
“Go on…”
“And because you’ve had contractions twice now, I think it’s a safe bet you’re not making it to your due date.”
“False labor,” she corrected. “What are you getting at?”
He removed his baseball hat and raked a hand through his unruly hair. “Phoebe, I don’t want our baby to be born to parents with different names.”
The gravity of the mood weighed heavily on me, and I desperately needed our banter back to lighten it. I couldn’t make this easy for him, it just wouldn’t be us. “I understand,” I said with a hand on his arm.
He glanced up, surprised at my agreeability. “You do?”
“Of course.” I sat up and rested my hands across my stomach. “Ryan is a solid name. I’m game.”
His eyes widened. “You can’t be fucking serious. No way. Tell me you’re not serious!”
It was impossible to keep a straight face. “Serious about what?”
“The last name, Phoebe.” He rose to his knees, his breathing erratic.
