It’s nothing fancy. A soft yellow cotton thing with delicate white flowers, fitted at the waist and falling just above the knees. You'd been waiting for a night like this—quiet, slow—and for Ellie to see it.

You’re plating up the roasted vegetables when the front door opens with a heavy creak. Boots hit the floor a second later, then—

“Hey, babe…” comes her voice. Low, scratchy from the day. She sounds like she's already halfway into a nap.

Before you can respond, a pair of strong arms snake around your waist, pulling you flush against a chest that smells like sawdust, sweat, and the sun. Her shirt is damp in places. There's oil on her hands. And now, smudged against your hip, on your brand-new dress.

You stiffen, glancing down at the smear of grease darkening the fabric.

“Ellie,” you groan. “The dress. This is new—”

“I know, I’m sorry,” she mumbles against your neck, already half-limp with exhaustion, head buried into your shoulder like she might fall asleep standing. “You smell good. Missed you all day.”

And just like that, the irritation dissolves. Because when you glance back at her, she’s barely holding herself upright. Her eyes are half-lidded, lashes damp with sweat. There’s a streak of dirt on her cheek and the faintest bruise peeking out from under her sleeve.

You sigh softly, letting your body relax in her hold.

“You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re pathetic,” you murmur, brushing your fingers gently through her hair.

Ellie chuckles—more of a grunt, really—then leans her full weight into you. “You’re lucky I didn’t die under the sun today. Felt like I was workin’ in hell.”

“You smell like it, too.”

“Mmm.”

You let her cling to you for another minute before turning in her arms and pressing a kiss to her grimy cheek. “Go sit on the edge of the tub. I’m running you a bath.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but you cut her off with a firm look and a finger pressed to her lips. “Don’t argue with me, Ellie. You look like ten miles of bad road.”

“And you look…” she finally registers the dress, blinking at you in awe. “Shit. You look—real pretty. Did you wear that for me?”

You nod, cheeks warming. “Was hoping you’d notice before you got motor oil all over it.”

Ellie lets out a sheepish laugh, and you nudge her toward the bathroom.

The tub’s about halfway full when you peek your head in again. Ellie’s already sitting inside, one leg bent, her arm slung over the edge, hair loosely tied back with one of your scrunchies—bright pink against all that grime and muscle. You try not to laugh.

“You look ridiculous,” you say fondly, kneeling beside the tub with a rag and her favorite shampoo in hand.

“You gave me this hair tie,” she points out with a lopsided grin.

“Didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

You dip the rag in the water and wring it out over her shoulders. She lets out a sigh that rattles in her chest and sinks a little deeper into the water.

“That good?” you ask, voice quiet.

“Mhm,” she hums, eyes closed. “Keep going.”

You work in slow circles, rubbing the cloth along her arms and collarbone, catching little flecks of dirt left over from the day. She keeps her head tilted slightly toward you, every now and then glancing at you like she’s trying to memorize the way you look in this moment—barefoot, hair pulled up, sleeves rolled, tending to her like it’s second nature.

You dip the rag again, and this time she opens her eyes when you reach for her face.

“Can I?”

She nods, already leaning forward a bit. You hold her chin with your hand and gently wipe the smudges off her cheeks and forehead. The way she looks at you—half-sleepy, half-in-love—makes your stomach flutter.

There’s a moment of stillness, your fingers lingering near the corner of her jaw. You lean in and press the smallest kiss to her lips—barely there, more instinct than intention.

When you pull back, she just smiles, eyes crinkling.

“You missed a spot,” she says, nodding toward her chin.

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling too, dipping the cloth again and dabbing the spot she pointed to. “Drama queen.”

Ellie shrugs. “Not my fault my wife’s hot and bossy.”

“Not my fault my wife smells like axle grease and sawdust.”

Your heart feels like it’s going to come out of your mouth. You can’t turn it round. With shaking hands, you place the pregnancy test on the bathroom counter, laughing to yourself in disbelief. You and Abby have been trying to get pregnant for what feels like years. All you wanted was to settle down with your wife, a few cats and a baby. You’re almost there, the collection is almost complete. You take a sharp breath in, hunched over the counter. You’ve been in this position twice before. You can do it again. Third time’s the charm, right? Your hands feel clammy, your knees are buckling and you know you need to look. Not yet. You take a deep breath, keeping your eyes closed as you try to keep calm.

“Hey, baby? Where are my- Oh,” Abby stops in her tracks, quickly forgetting what she lost as she watches you in the mirror.

“Is it-?”

“I don’t know, Abs. I haven’t looked. I can’t,” you say, breathily. You open your eyes to meet Abby’s in the mirror. She shadows you, pressing soft kisses to the back of your neck, her hands resting just below your belly button. Melting into her chest, you pick up the test, still face down.

“It’s okay. This is fine. I can do it. I’m gonna turn it round. I will. It’ll be fine. Tell me it will be fine,” You stutter, beginning to pace around the bathroom. You end up sitting on the closed toilet lid, the test in your lap. Abby walks over, crouching down to sit eye level with you. She leans forward to land a quick kiss on your lips before whispering, “it’s okay.”

You pick the test up, shoving it into Abby’s chest.

“I can’t. You look. I can’t do it.” She takes it into her hands, watching your eyes close as you wince.

Abby doesn’t make a sound.

“Oh my God,” she whispers. You feel Abby’s hand on the side of your face as she turns you to look at the test. Double lines. Two fucking lines. You’re pregnant.

“You’re fucking pregnant,” Abby gasps as she feels you fling yourself onto her. Abby places you around her hips, swinging you around as she laughs. Tears stream down your face.

“Are you laughing or crying?” Abby wipes a tear from your cheek. You shrug.

“I don’t know. Both.”

Abby walks you into your shared bedroom. You land with an umph as she places you down onto your back on the bed. She kneels in front of you, laying her head on your belly.

“I can hear her.” Abby places delicate kisses all over your torso, chest and up to your neck where your eyes meet hers once more.

“Oh, I’m sure, baby,” you laugh, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “Her? You think it’s a girl?” Abby settles back down on your stomach, her thumb stroking your stomach gently.