I'm friggin' huge.

I haven't seen my feet when standing up in weeks, and I feel like an actual balloon takes up my entire midsection—an overinflated balloon, at that. I'm thirty weeks and four days along now, and while I'm a bit miserable and really suck at getting up, I don't think I've ever been happier. I mean, I'll definitely be happier once she's here, but everything is actually going well for me.

Except the motherfucking crib that the freight company left on my porch, even though I paid for inside, white glove delivery. The box is at least two hundred pounds, and there's no way in hell I could move it even if I weren't super pregnant, but the rain is coming, and I'm terrified the moisture will ruin the beautiful gray wood.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I check the time and wonder if Edward will be home soon. Maybe, but there's no telling for sure. I decide to text, and figure at the very least, I can shove the box farther under my porch roof to keep it out of the direct rain.

Any chance you're almost home? I have a dilemma.

I don't say "problem" because last time I did, he called me immediately, telling me he was having an ambulance sent to my house. The problem was that I was out of Cheetos. I learned then to specify.

In the last month, we've had countless dinners together with each of us taking turns cooking—or even sharing duties. He loved my spaghetti and took leftovers to work the next day. My favorite dish of his is still the paprika chicken, but let me tell you, his grilling? His grilling is perfection. I've had steak, chicken, and more burgers, and no one does a better job than him.

I'm about five minutes away. What's wrong?

I quickly type, hoping to ease any worry. Just need someone who can move a super heavy box. Pretty sure you'd yell at me if I tried.

He sends a laughing emoji, followed by, I would. Be there soon.

The rain starts slowly at first, and I run—well, speed waddle—to my kitchen to grab two large lawn garbage bags, and then tuck them around the box as it starts coming down harder. If something happens to this expensive ass piece of furniture, I'm going to be so pissed. Like, write a strongly worded letter pissed—with all the curse words.

The wind starts up, sending the rain onto my porch and precious box. I consider trying to shove it farther under the roof, but Edward pulls up just in time. He hurries out of his car and runs over, pushing his hood down and shaking the rain off.

"Your muscle has arrived," he says, a crooked grin in place.

He unzips his raincoat and shrugs out of it, showing off his dark blue scrub top. The first time I saw him in those, I think I came. His ass is absolutely fantastic in them, and the way the sleeves wrap around the muscles in his arms? Hot. So fucking hot. Needless to say, I've definitely developed a serious crush, and it's dangerous.

Because, let's be honest, what man who looks like that is going to want a super pregnant, hormonal girl? Nope. It just isn't happening, but I can't help the crush. So, I let it out in … other ways. Like literotica.

"It's heavy, so if you can just push it inside, my dad will take care of opening it up and putting it together when he comes up next time."

He scoffs and cracks his neck, then knuckles. "I'm sure I can handle bringing it all the way in. I take it this is the crib, right? I could put it together for you, too."

"You should be careful. It's really heavy."

He leans down, grasping the sides of the box before giving it the good old heave ho. He grunts, walking it into the house before putting it down suddenly between the living room and kitchen.

"Oh shit," he groans as his hand goes to his back.

He drops onto the floor leading into my kitchen and I gasp. "Oh my God! Are you okay? Edward, I told you it was heavy!"

"You weren't lying. Ugh, I think I pulled something." He lays down on his stomach, rubbing his lower back. "Yeah, I pulled something. God, do I feel old."

"I mean, you're not young," I tease, instantly feeling bad for making fun of a thirty-seven year old. "Sorry. It was a bad joke. What can I do for you? Do you need an ambulance?"

He scoffs. "Nope, just give me a few. Ignore my possibly dying form on your kitchen floor."

To be fair, I told him more than once that it was heavy.

Men.

"I have ibuprofen."

"I need like, twenty."

"I'll give you four."

"Fair enough. Just … Just give me a few minutes here. I'm going to try not to die and bring down your property value."

I laugh. "I'll just hide the evidence. Maybe bury you in the backyard."

"You can't lift a crib let alone drag my body to the back yard," he scoffs, and then groans in pain from said scoff.

"My dad's a cop. I'm sure he'd help," I tease. "Just lay still. I'm going to grab you my ice pack from the freezer."

"Bless you, beautiful girl."

I feel the warmth of my blush explode across my face and chest as I walk to the freezer. I am never going to get over this crush—not as long as he calls me beautiful and treats me so well. He's become my closest friend, a confidant, and makes me feel less like a huge penguin and more like a gorgeous woman. This is so fucking dangerous, but I can't convince myself to try and get some distance.

Gathering the meds, ice pack, and a glass of water, I head back over to Edward, and he rolls over slowly, taking the meds from me first before moving back onto his stomach and pressing the ice pack against his lower back.

He sighs in relief, and his lip curls ever so slightly. "Thank you so much. Remind me to listen to you next time, all right?"

"Oh, I can do you one better." I laugh. "I told you so. You'll never want to hear me say it again now. So, what can I make my muscle man for dinner since clearly you won't be doing any cooking—even though it is technically your turn?"

He chuckles. "Yeah, it was, wasn't it? Well, I'd planned chicken Alfredo. The chicken is thawed in my fridge if you want to grab it. Plus the other ingredients."

Chicken Alfredo sounds incredible. "What about breadsticks?"

"In the freezer. Sorry, sometimes frozen store-bought is easier."

Fuck, this man knows the way to my heart. I love breadsticks—frozen or not. "I think I need a key to your house because that sounds incredible."

He digs into his pocket, pulling his keychain out for me. Aside from the usual house key, car key, and random other keys, there's a caduceus keychain I've noticed before. He keeps it simple, unlike me. My keychain is a lanyard, a wallet, multiple orange cat keychains, and a slew of other things, making it way too heavy but incredibly hard to lose. I haven't carried a purse in years, so it's just easier to keep everything with my keys.

"I'll be back. Do you need anything else?"

"Actually, yes, and it'll make me sound old."

"You ain't young," I tease.

"This isn't the first time I've thrown my back out. I think I still have a couple muscle relaxers in my bathroom cabinet. Could you grab them for me?"

"What are they called?"

"Cyclobenzaprine. The only other prescription bottle is Fluoxetine. Those you can leave. I take them in the morning."

I nod, knowing what that is and understanding something more about him. He's like most people. He seems perfect—and he is to me—but he's not because no one is. I once took Fluoxetine, too. It's been a couple years since I went off the antidepressant, but I'm well aware there may come a day when I need it again. I can't say why Edward takes the medicine—maybe his son or maybe he took it before—but I'm glad he is taking it.

I leave him in my kitchen and waddle next door, taking in the home. I'm not usually one to snoop, but I can't help but take in every inch of it. I've seen the downstairs from our nights having dinner, but the second floor is all new to me. With three bedrooms, I wonder what he's using them all for and take a quick peek in each. The first is clearly an office, his desk stacked with documents and shelves filled with books. Not as many books as I have, of course, but a good amount. The second just holds a bed and dresser—guest room. And of course, the third is the master. The black wood furniture and gray bedding looks nice. He even made his bed, which is something I hardly do. Sure, I straighten it up, but what's the point when I'm just going to mess it up again in a few hours?

He's tidy—every room is free of clutter and looks like something out of a design magazine. I know he's not home much, but still. Part of me kind of wants to move a few things just to screw with the perfectness. I don't though. Instead, I head into his large bathroom and open the cabinet over his toilet. It's neat, too. I easily find the bottle of muscle relaxers, rubbing my thumb over his name on the label before heading back downstairs and into his kitchen.

I grab the ingredients for dinner, then head back next door, finding him in the same spot on my floor. I have to drop the pill bottle next to him since bending isn't so simple anyway, and he grabs it, smiling tightly.

"You're a godsend, beautiful girl. Find everything okay?"

I nod, dropping everything on my kitchen island. "Yep, and I snooped, too, by the way. You know you're way too neat, right?"

"The fatal flaw of a doctor. We need things in order at all times."

"I mean, you make your bed. I don't do that. Like, you're just going to screw it all up twelve hours later."

"Not always twelve for me. In Baltimore, I was lucky if I made it home every few days, and it felt good coming home to a made bed."

I cock my brow. "What, did you live in the hospital?"

He shrugs. "It felt like it. I worked in one of the biggest hospitals in Baltimore. The University of Maryland is a teaching hospital, so we saw everyone. Insured, noninsured, drug-addicted moms, perfect moms. It was a mixture of the best and worst—money and no money. I helped more moms I hadn't met give birth than ones I had met. But every moment was worth it. Even the hard cases … they taught me."

"You gave up that adrenal rush for Port Angeles? Why did you move here?"

"Because sometimes, it gets to be too much." He sighs. "I like the calmness of Port Angeles. I grew up in Seattle and now my parents are around here, so nothing felt more . . . right than coming home."

I didn't know that. I knew he worked in Baltimore, but we hadn't talked a ton about his family. "Are your parents still here?"

He nods. "Yeah, they have a place outside of town, but they've been on a six-week vacation—left a few days after I moved back. They'll be home next week, and Mom already invited me over for dinner. I'm sure they'd love to meet you, if you'd like to come."

Okay, meeting parents is definitely outside of the friendzone, right? Then again, he's met my dad, so I suppose it's not all that insane.

"Maybe. Depending if I can still find clothes to fit into." I laugh softly. "Now, rest up and I'll get to cooking."

Edward is rather pitiful and stays on my floor but moves closer to the couch and props his head up with a pillow. I almost consider feeding him because he grimaces each time he takes a bite, but that seems a little too intimate.

"How did you manage last time you threw your back out?" I ask, sitting above him on the couch as I flip through Netflix.

"Stayed on the on-call room floor for a good twelve hours. Hard surfaces help."

I know what I'm about to say is going to be turned down, but I can't help but offer it. "Well, my floor is yours for however long you need it. We could have a little movie marathon, some popcorn, and a good ole fashion sleepover."

He tilts his head over toward me and smiles. "Sleepover, huh?"

I shrug. "It's easier than trying to help you home. As I'm sure you've noticed, I'm not in the best shape to toss you over my shoulder and haul you next door."

He chuckles and quickly groans. "It depends. What movies are we marathoning?"

"Well, I have Netflix, Hulu, Disney Plus, and HBO. I'm sure we can find some interesting things."

"I have a very important question to ask you, and how you answer will shape the future of our relationship."

I quirk my brow, smirking. "Hit me with your best shot, Doc."

"How many parsecs does it take the Millennium Falcon to make the Kessel Run?"

"Uh, less than twelve, duh." I go to Disney Plus and quickly search for A New Hope. "Don't test my Star Wars knowledge, boy. I can tell you the name of every tie-fighter variant at a glance. Also, I am proficient in all seven forms of lightsaber combat."

He grins. "Damn, that's hot."

My cheeks heat up, and I just shrug. "I'm a fandom-whore. Star Wars is only one of many things I obsess over."

"What else? I want to know how our geek matches."

I delve into the numerous fandoms I adore—Star Trek, Marvel, DC, Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter. I leave out Game of Thrones because I'm still mad, and George hasn't finished the next damn book to fix it. He's hardcore into comic books, having gone to the Baltimore Comic-Con a few times while he lived there. When he tells me he dressed up once as Ozymandias from Watchmen, I almost come. I need pictures of him in purple and gold like I need air.

"Yes, he was kind of the bad guy, but it worked!" Edward says, defending his choice. "Everyone loves Dr. Manhattan, but let's be real—he's no hero either. The squids stopped nuclear war."

"By using fear! Sure, it worked then, but you've seen the HBO show. It was hardly the best thing. And so many people died!"

"More would have died in nuclear war. No, it wasn't great, but it worked. He saved more lives than he took."

I gasp. "I'm shocked! Is it just fictitious lives you feel that way about or do I need to make a call to the medical board?"

He chuckles, looking absolutely gorgeous. "Just fictitious mostly. Now, didn't you mention something about popcorn?"

I pause the movie and groan as I heave myself off the couch. "Yes, I did. I'll go make it. How's your back?"

"Muscle relaxer helped some, but it's still pretty sore. Sure you don't mind if I sleep on your floor?"

I shake my head. I'd rather him sleep in my bed, but beggars can't be choosers. "Not at all. I'll grab a blanket and more pillows after starting the popcorn."

I put the bag in and hit the button on the microwave before going upstairs to my linen closet. I grab a fluffy white comforter, then pull two pillows off the guest bed before heading back downstairs, finding Edward looking at his phone.

"Do you have to go be a doctor?" I ask, dropping everything on the floor next to him.

He shakes his head. "No, Leah's on call. I'm just checking my messages. My sister texted me earlier, saying Jasper was planning on taking her out to a nice restaurant. She thinks he's going to pop the question, but this isn't the first time she's thought that."

"Have they been together long?" I ask, knowing a little about Alice.

She's over ten years younger than him, lives in Los Angeles, and works as a personal shopper but has dreams of designing her own clothing line. They're not incredibly close, but he talks to her a few times a month at least.

"About two years, I think. He's a good guy—finishing up his doctorate in psychology. She needs someone like him, so I hope he does eventually ask because I'd rather her not go back to some of the guys she's been with before. She doesn't always have the best taste, let's just say. He's been the exception."

"Ah, been there with the bad taste in men," I say, rubbing my bump as the microwave goes off. "I'll be right back. You good with extra salt?"

He raises his brow. "Regular salt. I haven't been harping on you for your blood pressure, but it's still on the higher side of normal."

I shrug. "You said normal, so I say salt." He glares and I roll my eyes. "Fine. Regular amount of salt, Dr. Cullen."

We're about halfway through A New Hope when Edward's phone rings. He answers quickly, and then pulls the device away from his ear as screams come from it. Yep, Alice was right this time.

"He proposed!" she yells as Edward chuckles, putting the phone slightly closer to his ear.

"I'm so happy for you, Allie," he says, grinning widely. "Was it everything you dreamed of?"

Another scream. "Yes! OhmyGod, Eddie! It's happening! He's the one!"

"Well, he better be. I'm only going to be your best man once."

She's quieter now, probably telling him all about the proposal, and he keeps telling her how happy he is for her, how he can't wait for the wedding, and how he's there for her if she needs anything. Hearing him with her makes me wish I'd had a big brother to be there for me. I mean, obviously my dad didn't like most of my choices in men, but he let me do my thing. He never wanted to overstep. Hearing Edward tell his sister how great Jasper is makes me wish someone had told me how bad Riley would be for me.

Then again, without him, I wouldn't have my tiny human. He was worth it just for her. But still, I regret him and all the years I spent thinking he was perfect for me.

Riley is a tattoo artist, and I let him ink me a few times. I don't regret that part, but I regret the time I put into him. Yeah, he gave me some beautiful ink on my thigh and ribs, but the heartache he left me with barely makes the works of art worth it. He's talented at least. But if I'd known how quickly he'd change, I'd have never let him touch me—with his hands or needles. My tiny human will be part of him though, so I try to remember the good in him. He was kind. He was incredibly talented. Maybe she'll be an artist, too.

He did love me. That much I'm sure of. But he didn't love me enough to stick with me during all of this. He was just as undecided about kids as I once was, but once I knew she was there—breathing the same life as I was—there wasn't a doubt for me. For him, he didn't like it. He didn't want it. I can't hate him. I mean, I shouldn't, but sometimes I do. I hate that he won't love her, won't know her, and won't be there for her. But I can't hate him for knowing he couldn't be a dad.

I'm going to be enough for my tiny human. I know someday she'll ask about him, but until that day comes, I'm not sure what I'll say. I'm sure I'll tell her that he's talented and that he wasn't a bad person, but will I tell her his name? I have no idea.

A woman and a man equal a child, but the woman has the choice whether or not to have that child. Is it fair to Riley to air his dirty laundry? I'm just as culpable as him in her creation. I'm choosing to have her. Riley would have chosen not to. There's just so much unknown in that regard.

I pride myself in being pro-choice. I'm choosing this. He's not. Is it fair to vilify that he didn't choose it? Shit, that's some heavy stuff. And tonight shouldn't be heavy. Tonight, Edward's sister got engaged. That should be my focus.

"Tell her I'm so happy for her," I say as he smiles.

"Bella is happy for you, too, Allie. We're having a sleepover because I hurt my back again. Apparently, I'm old."

He chuckles, and I kind of hear her words this time. "Sure you're not faking it to be with her?"

I could be wrong, of course. It's muffled so maybe she didn't say that, but I know he isn't faking it. It was clear that carrying the crib in was too much, but he could have just left it inside the door.

"Fuck off." He chuckles. "My back isn't what it used to be. Now, go celebrate your engagement as I recuperate."

He hangs up the phone and looks up at me sheepishly. "She's something else—my sister. How much could you hear?"

I smirk. "Enough, but I know you're not faking it. I saw that painful expression."

"It doesn't hurt that I get to spend more time with you though. Now, press play. We're getting to the best part."

I do as he says but soak in his words. He likes spending time with me. Maybe my crush isn't as one-sided as I thought. I mean, I can't know for sure but the fact that he didn't run home counts for something, right?

I don't own Twilight.

Thank you, Ashley for prereading and Alice's White Rabbit for beta'ing!

I said Friday, but then I kinda maybe tore my achillies' tendon. Hopefully not, but now I'm on crutches, which suck. It's like they give you those to take your mind of the ankle pain and focus on arm pain, am I right? Anyway, I hope to see you next week unless I get bad news from the ortho surgeon. Thank you all so much for reading, reviewing, and pimping! ILY all!