E


    “Shit, shit, shit,” Alexander muttered, scrambling to grab some rags from the supply closet.


    I dropped my bag and the crib part on the dresser and rushed to help him. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just paint.”


    But the paint seemed to have a mind of its own. Within moments of spilling, it had somehow already spread halfway across the floor and begun to seep into the hardwood.


    We spent the next twenty minutes trying to clean up the mess, but somehow we only made it worse.


    Every time we thought we had it contained, more paint seemed to appear. Alexander identally stepped in it and tracked green footprints across half the room. I knelt down to scrub at a particrly stubborn spot and managed to get paint all over my shirt sleeves.


    “This is hopeless,” I said with a sigh, wiping sweat from my brow–which only managed to smear more


    paint across my forehead. “We’re going to need professionals.”


    “Or we could just tell everyone the baby’s nursery has a modern art instation,” Alexander said,


    gesturing at the abstract green stters that were now decorating the walls and floor.


    I couldn’t help it. I snorted, then startedughing, and once I started, I couldn’t stop. Maybe it was the stress of everything that had happenedtely, or maybe it was just the ridiculousness of the situation, but something about the whole thing struck me as absolutely hrious.


    “What’s so funny<b>?</b>” Alexander tilted his head.


    “You,” I said, wiping tears from my eyes. I gestured weakly at him. “You look like shit.”


    The tips of Alexander’s ears reddened. “Hey! I can’t possibly look that bad!” But when he looked down at himself and saw his paint–covered clothes and skin, his shoulders slumped with defeat. “Yeah, well, you’re one to talk. You’ve got green paint in your hair.”


    I reached up to touch my hair, and sure enough, my fingers came away sticky. “Fuck. How did that even get there?”


    “me it on the artistic process,” Alexander said, one corner of his mouth lifting.


    I giggled again. Everything seemed funnier than it should have been. The paint fumes were pretty strong in the closed room, and I was starting to feel a little lightheaded.


    “You know,” I said, crawling closer to where Alexander was crouched next to the overturned paint bucket, “you’re actually kind of attractive when you’re covered in paint.”


    Alexander raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?<b>” </b>


    “Very rugged. Like a <i>sexy </i>construction worker.” I reached out and touched his cheek, leaving a small green handprint. “There. Now you’re perfect.”


    “E, are <b>you </b>feeling alright?”


    “I’m feeling fantastic.” And I was, sort of. Everything had a dreamy quality to it, like I was floating just a


    few inches above the ground. “Have I ever told you that you have really nice shoulders?”


    “I… no. You haven’t.”


    “Well, you do. Very broad. Very strong.” I leaned closer, breathing in his scent. “I bet you could carry me


    anywhere you wanted, even though I’m pregnant.”


    Alexander’s eyes widened. “Okay, that’s enough paint fumes for you.” He stood up and scooped me into his arms before I could protest.


    “See?” I said, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I knew you could carry me.”


    “You’re acting strange.”


    “I’m acting honest.” I traced a finger along his jaw. “Do you know how long it’s been since we kissed? Really kissed?”


    Alexander didn’t answer, but his jaw ticked under my touch.


    “Too long,” I continued. “Way too long. We’re married, you know. Married people kiss all the time.”


    “E…”


    “What? Don’t you want to kiss me?” I stuck my lower lip out in a pout. “Am I not pretty enough? Is it because I’m getting so big with this baby inside of me?”


    Shaking his head, he carried me into our bedroom and set me down on the bed. “I’m calling the doctor.”


    “Don’t call the doctor. Call nobody. Just…e here.” I patted the bed beside me. “Sit with me.”


    But Alexander was already pulling out his phone, and I felt a stab of frustrationnce through my chest. Why wasn’t he paying attention to me? I was practically throwing myself at him, and he was worried about paint fumes?


    “Hi, Dr. Evelyn? It’s Alpha Alexander. Yes, I know it’ste. E inhaled some paint fumes and she’s acting …” His eyes flicked to me. “…Unusual.”


    I flopped back against the pillows with a dramatic sigh. “I’m not unusual. I’m fantastic.”


    Alexander shot me a look that was equal parts amused and concerned. “Can youe take a look at her?


    Just to be safe.”