Just for This Moment (Wishful 4)

He’d dragged in the stool that usually lived in the bathroom so he could get to the faucet to wash his hands. The little monkey had used it to get to the kitchen sink to fill a little bucket, the kind more appropriate for a beach vacation. It was currently overflowing—thankfully still in the sink—from the still running tap. Judging by the spreading mess of wet, he’d managed to dump at least a couple of buckets on the flour already. A sand spade was stuck in the middle, coated with glop.

Preston himself perched on the edge of the counter, looking down at where his stool had been knocked over. Seeing the two of them standing in the doorway, he reached his arms out. “Down.”

Caught somewhere between horror and amusement, Piper choked out, “Well, at least he’s not bleeding.”

“What are you doing, little monkey?” Myles asked, skirting the edge of the mess to pluck him, sticky hands and all, off the counter.

“Sand castle.” He wiggled to get down, but Myles held firm.

“That, my fine fellow, is not sand. And you have made quite the mess.”

Preston shot him a flour streaked grin.

Her husband shook his head. “Well, I do recall saying you’d be good practice.”

Piper’s lips twitched. He had no idea how accurate that statement was. “And what lesson have we learned?”

“That it takes less than three minutes for a toddler to get into things if you aren’t paying attention?”

“File that one away. As they get more mobile, the span shortens.” Was now the moment? In the middle of this toddler-authored chaos? Probably not the best time, even if Myles looked more amused that distressed. She moved over and tweaked her nephew’s nose. “We need to get this cleaned up before your mommy gets home and bans us from babysitting duty. Divide and conquer. Take him on into the bath. I’ll get started on this.”

“You sure? Seems like you’re getting the bigger job here.” He had streaks of flour on his face from Preston’s grabby little hands.

She was definitely getting the better end of this stick. “I know wher

e all the cleaning supplies are. Just...keep him wrangled long enough for me to use them.”

So Myles hauled Preston back to the bathroom, keeping him entertained with what sounded like an epic battle of rubber duckies versus the cast of Little Nemo, while she cleaned up the mess. The mindless domesticity settled her, giving her mind a chance to truly empty out from all the angst and heartache. By the time the kitchen was set to rights, she felt calmer and ready to to drop her little bomb.

She leaned in the doorway to the bathroom, taking in this new scene of chaos. Wet towels were strewn across the floor and Preston’s entire collection of bath toys floated around him in what couldn’t have been more than a couple of inches of water. Myles perched on the closed lid of the toilet, rubber duckies in both hands as he talked some sort of nonsense to Preston. Her bruised heart swelled with warmth. He was going to be an amazing father.

“Did you leave any of the water in the actual tub?”

Myles looked up and she realized he’d cleaned his own face. “A bit. Pretty sure a fair bit wound up on me. My rubber duckie armada put up a valiant fight.”

“So I see.” Moving into the bathroom, she handed him the hooded frog towel hanging on a hook.

Myles scooped a giggling and clean Preston out of the bath and briskly rubbed him down. “Jammie time, boy-o.”

Piper followed them into Preston’s room, pulling out a fresh diaper and choo-choo train pajamas. Between the two of them, they managed to get him wrestled into them both.

“We’ve got this babysitting gig down. Good team.” He lifted his hand to give her a high five.

But instead of slapping his palm, she placed her hand against his, lacing their fingers together. “Myles, there’s something I need to tell you.”

He frowned. “About the post nup? Gram already told me. We’ll tear it up.”

That was something else they should probably talk about at some point. God knew what his grandmother thought. But whatever needed to be face with his family, they’d face together. Right now was just for them.

“Not the post-nup. It’s why I was at your office at all yesterday.”

Pure panic flashed in his expression and he tightened his grip, pulling her closer, his words spilling out in a rush. “Are you sick? Miranda wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, just that it wasn’t terminal. Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it together, okay? We’ll find all the best doctors. We’ll—”

With a hint of a smile, Piper pressed a finger to his lips, stemming the flow. “I’m not sick. And I didn’t have the stomach flu.” She took a breath and blew it out in a rush. “I’m pregnant.”

He blinked as if she’d koshed him over the head. “What?”

“We’re having a baby.”