Page 259 of Josephine and Clay

The twins are kicking each other.

At least, that's the only explanation I can come up with.

I pause in the middle of updating patient notes and press a hand against my stomach.

Immediately, one of them responds with a solid thump.

"Rude," I mutter.

Across the room, Dr. Harris glances up from his desk. "Talking to patients again?"

"They started it."

He nods as though that's perfectly reasonable. Which, considering the last six months, it probably is

A smile tugs at my mouth as I return to my paperwork.

These days, I catch myself smiling at text messages and arguing with unborn children before lunch.

It isn't easier. I'm still pregnant with twins, still working full time, and still preparing for two babies who already seem determined to cause trouble.

The fear doesn't ride shotgun anymore.

I don't think it ever will go completely. But it's quieter now. Because every morning I wake up next to Clay. Every evening he shows up. And every day in between, he somehow finds a dozen ways to remind me that I'm not doing this alone anymore.

Dr. Harris points his pen in my direction. "That smile again."

"What smile?"

"The Clay smile."

I groan. "I don't have a Clay smile."

The grin he aims at me should probably violate workplace policy.

"You absolutely do."

I shake my head and finish my notes while he chuckles quietly to himself.

The clinic stays busy for the rest of the afternoon, but by the time I finally lock up and head outside, exhaustion is beginning to settle into my bones.

Then I see Clay's truck. And suddenly I'm smiling again.

He climbs out before I reach him. The sight still catches me off guard. Sun-bronzed, broad-shouldered, and carrying that grin that usually means trouble.

His grin widens when he sees me. "Hey, Doc."

"Hey yourself."

He leans down and kisses me softly.

The simple affection still feels surprisingly precious.

When he pulls back, something in his expression immediately makes me suspicious. He’s full of surprises lately.

"What?"

His grin grows.