I haven't forgotten this fic or Illusions. I will be updating them on schedule. However, be sure to check out my newest fic called Broken Dreams. I'll be posting chapter four of seven (I think) momentarily.

Zelena intercepted Emma the moment she walked in on July 5. She was only there for what was supposed to be a quick meeting with Regina and to hand off some things that couldn't be changed before she was on vacation. Killian and Henry were already packed and had stopped at the gas station for both gasoline and what the older of the two referred to as road trip survival supplies.

"You have to see it," the taller woman breathed, looping her arm through Emma's and more forcing than guiding her to the table just by her desk. "It's a schematic of what the Rabbit Hole will look like when all is done. Isn't it incredible? I hired this designer and an architect from New York. Both are brilliant."

"It looks great," Emma responded, drawing her arm back as they stood there a bit awkwardly. The other woman was leaned over the blueprint pointing out everything from the customizable and modular stage to the new location of the HVAC equipment.

"I always hate having to go to the loo in these places, but these are going to be really nice."

"They look great," Emma said, glancing out the wall of windows to the hallway where a clock hung amongst the pictures of celebrities with both Regina and Zelena. She had two minutes to get to her other boss's office to avoid being late. "I haven't really had a chance to think about all this yet. Maybe we could…talk about it after I get back. I need to get to Regina's office."

"Don't let me keep you," Zelena told her, half hugging her and half holding her in place. "But you did look at those numbers, right? Dear it is going to be fantastic."

"They are very generous," Emma said, backing away from the woman. "I know you're going to make that place a success."

Her hand fluttered over her chest as she feigned modesty. "Not me, darling, you. You're going to make it the success."

Emma wasn't sure how her feet carried to Regina's office, feeling like she had done something wrong to both of her bosses as she tucked herself into the uncomfortable chair and waited to be acknowledged. Just yesterday she had been at the same party as this woman, seeing her hold her fist out to play thumb war with Roland and lean her head against Robin's shoulder as someone sang one of the slower ballads instead of a party song. Now she was all business with the gray skirt and matching jacket set off by a red silk blouse. While Emma had groaned at realizing she and Killian both still wore the pinkness of a day in the sun, she noticed that Regina's complexion just seemed to have grown richer from the rays.

"I am assuming that Anna spoke to you already," the woman began, folding her hands over a freshly printed list that her assistant had just placed on the glass desk as Emma arrived. "I wish these singers would realize that we have plans for them. There's branding, schedules, tours, photos, hair, makeup, and so many things they just don't think about. That song that Anna's supposed to sing lead on, the one she wrote. It's all about heartbreak and feeling alone." She scrunched her nose at the trite subject. "Nobody is going to believe that when she's sporting a belly with an arrow pointing down with the word 'baby' in neon pink or blue."

It was easier most of the time to let Regina rant before offering up anything more than agreement. So Emma let her do just that until she was sipping water out of the glass bottle and popping a few of her vitamins with head thrown back to aid the swallowing.

"I realize it's bad timing, but it wasn't really planned," Emma said, trying not to throw Anna under the bus too much. She was freaked out enough as it was and had already apologized profusely to Emma during the party and again that morning over the phone. "But I think we can work around it. We'll shorten the tour. Rush up the filming on the music videos. That will take us up to award season. We feature Elsa on the songs for that time. It's no big deal. We could probably even get Anna to record some mommy and me songs or lullabies to add to the download selections. We'd be golden." She sat back in the chair and waited, knowing that Regina was about to rain all over her parade and poke holes in all those ideas.

"Good points," the woman said, reaching for her phone and scrolling through. "Let's start shooting the videos in three weeks. I want Dante on this. He's best of our directors. I don't care where he is or what else he's doing. Get him."

Emma scribbled down the note and waited. "And what about the guys? I found them a new guitarist."

"I wish we worked with someone other than musicians and artists. They are so finicky." She was perched at the edge of her chair.

"It would make running a recording business a little hard without musicians, but yes they are hard to deal with sometimes." Emma wondered when the last time Regina had actually dealt with one of the artists was, as she primarily stayed out of the day to day work except to direct her staff.

Something of a smile broke through on Regina's lips. "Get new art of the band with this new guitarist. And no more delays. The moment you're back from vacation I want them in the studio and recording. Robin's…Robin's got some idea for that. Talk to him about it." She went over a few other tasks before sliding her feet out of her inordinately high heels and curling her toes in the fluffy carpet under her desk. "So where are you going on vacation? South of France is always lovely, but it's a bad time of year for that. You should try Mexico. Great beaches there."

Emma wondered if Regina was aware that the salary she was being paid would hardly cover trips like that. "I think we're going to stay a little closer to home. We're looking for some quiet and peace."

"Aren't we all? Very well, let's reconvene after your little break."

***AAA***

Elsa's long hair hung over the edge of the bed as she stared up at the coffered ceiling of the bedroom and let the sounds of Liam shaving and readying himself for the day surround her. The dull pain of a headache was already taking form, reviving itself after it had reared last night and left her barely able to function.

"Are you sure you're not hungry, darling?" he asked, emerging from the other room with the bath towel low on his hips. The steam and breeze from the overhead fan carried the scent of his ocean smelling body wash to her nostrils.

She blanched at the thought of eating. Long a sufferer of headaches, she was sure that the next stage would be nausea. Food would only speed that step. "I think I'll pass," she told him. "Why don't you see if Killian…"

"The lucky bloke's headed on a little holiday with Emma," he reminded her. "Are you truly feeling so poorly? Is there anything I can do? You haven't had anything yet this morning. I could get us some bacon and eggs? Perhaps some toast and baked beans?"

Elsa practically flew up off the bed, covering her mouth. "I swear, Liam. Don't even mention food. I have a headache and I may just lay here and die. Let me do it in piece." Her arm was folded over her eyes. "Just…I need some quiet."

He nodded, though she couldn't see him and ducked back into the living room, getting her some water and placing a cool washcloth over her eyes before being kicked out again. While he didn't want to disturb her with his music, he pulled out his computer and his notebook to see if he could scribble a few things down on paper before the guys revolted and ran for the hills. Plugging in the headphones, he brought the computer to life and found himself staring at the last page that was open.

August Booth's webpage was not your typical kind of thing. For one he was a novelist and wrote like one, rather than a blogger. For another, he seemed to have issue stretching the truth with his rumor soaked innuendos. Still, it was usually a fun read and stayed pretty local with news about entertainment in the Northeast. He scrolled up from seeing the tidbit about Jefferson joining the group, which he had seen the day before. Elsa had taken a screenshot and told him she was starting a scrapbook. Then he saw the picture of Elsa and Anna. "Powerhouse Vocalist Postpones Tour Dates Due to Pregnancy."

His eyes bulged as he read the vague but still informative blurb about one of the sisters being the reason for postponing a few dates later in the year. While their manager still hush-hush on the subject, the postponement so far out could only mean one thing, the article explained. It went on to say that Elsa was the odds on favorite to be the one with a bun in the oven, as she was more essential to the girls' performances than Anna who typically only sang one or two songs a night. However, the jury was still out.

Liam's heart beat wildly against his ribs and his eyes scanned the article a few more times until he could have recited it from memory. Standing up, the earphones ripped from the plug and he was pacing in front of their bedroom door. Surely she would have told him if this was the case. Even if it was Anna, it would make sense. But he had just seen the two of them yesterday. Anna had seemed her normal self, not eating any more or less and showing no signs of hormones or morning sickness. Elsa, on the other hand, was looking ill and currently hidden away in bed.

Pushing aside the question, Liam twisted his shirt with his fingers as he considered the idea. He wasn't opposed to fatherhood, though it certainly felt rushed. He would welcome the opportunity and was already feeling determined to be a better father than his own.

His next thought was one of dread. Just as he had felt odd in living with Elsa without a proper job, he felt even worse with the idea of pending fatherhood. He'd have to find something, anything. Half tempted (or more) to run in and tell Elsa that he knew, he went back to his seat on the sofa and pulled the computer to him. She wasn't feeling well, had asked for a little silence and rest. He could surely give her that and spend the time learning what he needed to know. Fifteen minutes later he had sent out by email four resumes and was perusing pregnancy websites for tips on combating everything from morning sickness to hemorrhoids.

***AAA***

"Hey kid," Emma said, turning sideways in the seat to face where Henry and a stack of pillows were currently in the back. "Want to do the honors?"

Killian raised an eyebrow and looked through the rearview mirror as an excited Henry caught his mother's cell phone in his hand and made a dramatic show of powering it off. Mother and son quickly high fived as Henry did the same with his own phone that was supposed to be for emergencies only anyway. "Might as well do mine too," he offered. "It's there in the console."

"You don't have to," Emma explained, though she dug in box between them to grab it. "Henry and I just started that tradition because vacation time is our time to concentrate on relaxing, having fun, and each other. No interruptions."

"Sounds like heaven to me, love," Killian quipped, tilting his head toward the phone. "Off it goes."

Emma made a dramatic gesture, winding up her arm then taking her index finger in slow motion to turn off the phone. "And it's off," she said, dropping it into one of the cup holders. She raised a hand and placed the back of it on Killian's forehead. "Are you doing okay? Any shakes? Others signs of withdrawal. Henry? Do we have any chocolate to give Killian? He may need something."

"I don't know," Killian played along, winking at her in that way he did that almost wasn't a full wink. It was kind of adorable, she thought, as it was an imperfection that even he didn't accept or acknowledge. "I may not make it. Do you know CPR?"

Henry leaned forward and wound his arm around the driver's seat to pat Killian's shoulder consolingly. "It's gonna be fine. I know for a fact that mom cheats and looks at hers when she thinks I'm not looking. We'll let you have it a few times too."

***AAA***

Ginger ale, crackers, a selection of breads to make dry toast, and some peppermint were all in the basket that Liam had on his arm as he maneuvered through the aisles of the pharmacy. It was pretty crowded for a week day, but he was determined to stock the kitchen of their condo with anything that she could want. He threw in a few packs of cookies, pretzels, peanut butter, and anything else he could fit that might help with cravings.

"I don't even know when they start," he mumbled. While he had spent the past few hours scouring internet sites, which didn't always agree, he had also just spent quite a bit of money on Amazon to buy books that would help him navigate these waters.

The purchases he made were pricey and he was not sure that he had even gotten anything that she might like. But it felt good to actually do something. He was halfway back home when he got a call from one of his job prospects and agreed readily to an interview the next day. Things were falling into place, he told himself.

Elsa was still asleep when he returned. Mindful of her need for that rest, he quietly set about his work. He started by getting rid of items that she would not be able to have in her condition. He boxed up the wine and other alcoholic substances, following that with coffee that seemed to be a no go for pregnant women according to the websites he had found. Once he had all of that, plus a few other items that contained anything from MSG to food dyes that he was not sure about, he drove those to his brother's and left them stacked in the kitchen.

He returned to the condo again with ideas that would not stop. The music room they created would serve as a good nursery for the baby. Though he wouldn't dare start the decorating process without her, he knew that the room was in danger of becoming a catch all. They had a storage in the garage part of the building, so he set about removing many of the extra boxes of stuff and placing them there. When he returned after his sixth or seventh load, he found Elsa standing in the center of the living room with a peculiar look on her face.

"Where…what?" she shook her sleep addled head and stared out at him, her eyes seeming a bit brighter than before. "What are you doing?"

"Sorry, darling," he said, crossing the room in about three strides to pull her into his arms. "I just felt that I needed to do something."

"So you…I'm not even sure what you did."

He took her confusion as a sign of awe, pulling her into his side and walking her over to the sofa. "Let's get you settled first. Then we'll chat a bit. How is your stomach? Can I get you something? Perhaps some ginger ale or tea?" He dropped his arm and hurried into the kitchen, leaning over the peninsula to inspect his recent purchases. "A biscuit might be good too. Anything you wish."

"I just want some coffee, thanks," she said, the heel of her hands rubbing into her eyes. "A little sugar and that peppermint creamer too."

"Ahhh…well," he paused at the threshold. "Tea would be better, darling. Coffee's not the greatest for you. I have some peppermint flavored." He turned his back to pull out the kettle and began to fill it with water.

"Maybe later," she said groggily. "I really need that coffee though. I'm dying for some caffeine." She didn't hear his answer, her eyes shutting and her head drooping over to the side. Sleep overtook her.

***AAA***

"We should have brought your boat," Henry noted as they stood in what basically amounted to an almost empty parking lot with an aged wooden dock protruding out from it. At the end of it was a tall and dark haired man. His skin well tanned by the sun, but not to a leathery state. He was wearing a pair of cargo pants with a loose fitting v-neck that billowed with each blow of the breeze. A pair or mirrored sunglasses sat on his thin nose. "It would be safer." While Killian spoke to the man, Henry leaned closer to his mother and whispered, "Is he like in the CIA?"

"You have too much of an imagination sometimes." Emma slammed another of the bags into Henry's outstretched arms, looping the strap over his shoulder. "Come on, kid. We'll be there in half an hour."

He didn't have much of a choice as he followed his mom and Killian, their arms so laden with luggage and supplies that it was the first time he hadn't seen them holding hands or enjoying incidental touches. The man with the rather small motor boat greeted them with a gruff question of their names and then threw each item into his faded vessel.

"I thought this was a road trip," Henry whispered to his mom, who was sitting between him and Killian. "Why are we taking a boat?"

Killian laughed, the sound of it catching in the wind. "The lad's quite perceptive, isn't he? This island is a bit past the sound here, Henry. No roads or bridges lead to it."

Henry glanced past his teacher and squinted into the hazy distance. There were a few small islands that dotted the horizon with spires of trees and very little signs of life. "Are we camping?"

Eric let out a hearty chuckle. "You'll be staying in a house. My wife and I run it. Got about eight bedrooms. You can have your run of the island though."

Emma squeezed his shoulder consolingly. "It's a quiet place where you can do whatever you want on your own. You can Killian can fish. You can explore the woods. I brought you camera so you can take pictures. There's a place for us to build a fire on the beach. It's not Disney, but it should be fun."

To say that Henry was skeptical was an understatement, as he eyed both Emma and Killian warily before frowning deeply. Eric steered the boat in the direction of the island, explaining that things would be quiet but not boring. "My wife and I have a son about your age and a daughter a year younger. They are always up to something. I think they were headed to the other side of the island to build something. A new set of fish traps? A fort? Don't really know. They'll be back by dinner."

Mouth gaping open, Henry stared incredulously at this man. "You mean you don't know where they are or what they're doing?"

"Nah," Eric said, stretching his arms over his head and yawning. "They'll tell us all about it tonight. So no point in worrying. They know what they're doing."

Henry considered it for a moment. "Mom wouldn't be cool with that."

"I think you'll be surprised," Emma laughed, nudging him with her shoulder. "Plus I know for a fact that Killian has some plans too."

"Aye, I've already arranged for a little fishing excursion for us, though I think your mum has other plans to laze about with a book I saw her packing. Plus I think she packed that camera of yours. Perhaps we all can have a bit of an outing to see what we can capture for posterity."

Still looking a bit skeptical, Henry nodded his head. "Could be fun."

***AAA***

Ruby dropped three pages on the table, waiting in what she hoped was a casual pose as Mary Margaret fingered and studied each with careful consideration. Her face was her best nonplussed and humble contortion of her usually confident style. Holding her arms over her chest, she felt that façade crumble with the realization that her usually exuberant friend was silent as well.

"Well?"

"They are beautiful," Mary Margaret remarked, rubbing the lacey fabric attached to one page between her thumb and forefinger. "Your work is always so good."

"God, you could have said that earlier. I was thinking you hated them." Ruby turned in her seat and grabbed the pad of paper from behind her and a pen instead of her charcoal pencil. "So let's break it down. What are you liking? What are you hating? I need some guidance because fairy tale princess is too vague."

The teacher's expression twists with concern. "I like this one best, I think," she said, pointing to the full skirted dress that would make her waist look tiny. "But the neckline is a bit low."

Ruby made a note of that and then placed the end of the pen at her lips. "You have a great rack though," she said as if this was a normal discussion. "I know David thinks so. Are you sure that you don't want to show them off?"

"I'm not saying it has to be a turtleneck. I would just prefer something where I don't have to worry either of the girls is going to pop out and get me sent to confession." She winked. "And I'd rather not have to wear a push up bra and be uncomfortable all day long."

Scribbling a few more notes, Ruby reached for one of the discarded drawings. "It would probably work more like this." She drew out a few lines. "But if you want a higher neck then we need to talk sleeves. These straps only work with the cut this way. I could do a thicker satin strap or maybe even a cap sleeve. What do you think?"

"I don't know," the short-haired brunette said after a pause. "This is all very different than I had imagined. I love you, Ruby. I really do. And this is all so awesome with you designing my dress, and yours, and Emma's, but it's not quite what I had pictured." She appeared like a scared rabbit, ready to run at a moment's notice. "It's not the dresses. They are beautiful and perfect. You're so talented."

Ruby looked around the crowded studio space that she had created and frowned. "It's the experience, right?"

"I'm being a spoiled brat. I know, I know, I know. You have worked so hard on all these designs, sourced the material, and even drawn them out in agonizing detail. I can't imagine…or maybe I can. But it's not like I pictured." She ran her hand over the fabric again, wistfully lifting it. "Never mind. I'm fine. This is all fine. This is the one I want."

Ruby snatched the drawing and sample out of her friend's hand and studied it as if she had not been staring at it for hours while she drew it already. "No, I get it. You wanted the store, and the attendants, the free champagne, the hours of trying on different dresses while Emma and I sit and wait for you to twirl in front of three way mirrors. You want sample veils and us both taking pics with our phones. We should be discussing those different ones while we have cocktails and plan your bachelorette party."

"I'm a selfish brat," Mary Margaret said, dropping her head to her folded arms on the table. "Most women would give their eye teeth for the chance to have a custom designed gown. And I'm wanting to go to a warehouse store and fight it out for something dozens of other women will wear that same weekend. You can tell me now. You don't want to be in the wedding. I've ruined it." Her sleeveless floral dress was capped off by a simple pink cardigan with short sleeves. It wasn't Ruby's style, but her friend knew it was traditional just like the bride.

Ruby let her friend wail only twice before tapping her on the back of the head. "So I have tomorrow off. I'm not Emma, but maybe we should go shopping."

"No, I can't ask that. I am turning into a bridezilla. You have to just put me down. Tell me no. I can take it."

"Nope, I'm making the call now. You go home and find your best strapless bra and make sure you're not wearing granny panties. I'm taking you to Bridal World. I'll take pics of every dress and text them to Emma. You're going to find just what you want. And if Bridal World doesn't serve champagne, I'll sneak some in. Come on. It's fine. I get it. You want the real experience. And between me trying to design everything from your dress to the napkins and Granny making out menus without even consulting you, it's gotten out of hand. So let's fix it."

***AAA***

Emma emerged from the second floor bedroom and followed the accented voice of her boyfriend and her happier sounding son from down below. They had already unpacked, but she had wanted to sort a few things out before she went 100% into vacation mode. However, her white dress with black spotches in various designs was made for vacation. Held up by two thick straps and cinched about her waist, she felt both cool and comfortable with a pair of ballet flats. She dropped onto the couch beside Killian, winking at her son who was on the couch across from them. Henry's face was the picture of concentration as he stared long and hard at the game board, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth.

"Will you be the judge, Mom?" he asked, not even looking up from the wooden tiles. "Killian's trying to cheat."

"You need a judge in Scrabble?" she asked, picking out one of the strawberries from the bowl of fruit that Eric's wife, Ariel had placed there for the boys. "Since when?"

"Since Killian decided to cheat," Henry insisted, his hand holding a single tile and then pulling it back when he changed his mind.

Realizing she was going to get nowhere with her son, Emma leaned into Killian, who managed to throw his arm around her and keep his concentration on Henry's turn at the same time. "How do you cheat in Scrabble?"

"The lad takes issue with my spelling," Killian said, laughing as if the idea was ridiculous.

"He puts u's in words that don't need them. He's just doing it for points." Having not found his own word yet, Henry crossed his arms over his mouth. "He tried to claim 20 extra points on that." He pointed to the word favour that Killian had placed before Emma arrived.

"Not everyone uses the Americanized spellings," the music teacher groused, taking a break to smile at Emma as she placed a quick peck to his cheek. "Is it my fault that his education has been stifled by his lack of proper spelling?"

"Since you're his teacher?" Emma asked with a laugh. "I think it is partially your fault. Either way guys, dinner is in like 10 minutes. Might want to wrap it up and go wash your hands." She realized she sounded very much like the mom of two rather than a girlfriend at that moment. Still she couldn't help herself.

She detangled herself from Killian and headed toward the kitchen that stood in the back center of the colonial style house. A large dining table was in the area in front of it and two separate living areas flanked either side. Emma sauntered into the kitchen where a red haired woman was pulling a dish from the oven with her eyes checking a faded and stained recipe card at the same time.

"Anything I can do to help?" Emma asked, knowing Killian was probably better at this but she still offered.

The woman laughed lightly, waving off a bit of the smoke from the casserole's charred edges with her oven mitt. "It usually takes guests a few days to realize I'm in over my head."

"I won't tell," Emma informed her. "But I have to ask about the recipes. I would think that…" She stopped, knowing there was no way to say these things without it coming out wrong. "Sorry."

Ariel gave a little laugh. "I'm a vegetarian," she explained with a wry shrug of her shoulders that said even more than the words. "My husband's parents are not. It's his mom's recipe. I have to follow it to make sure everyone is cool with the food we have here."

Emma nodded, noting the soft light that came through the back windows. "And you can't just say…"

"Are you married?" Ariel asked, not sounding the least bit testy. "You never quite measure up. I'm forever trying to prove that I'm good enough. Maybe part of that is in my head, but it doesn't go away. Now, you're a guest, so act like one and go put your feet under the table. I'll have this all ready in a minute."

Not knowing what to say and feeling like she had intruded, Emma followed Ariel's orders and landed at the large table. Most of the other guests were families, which made Henry somewhat more comfortable. There were kids of various ages and he was already engaging in conversations about Marvel comics and movies he wanted to see or had seen.

"I thought we might take a walk tonight," Killian said, when she pushed away her empty plate after finishing. "Would you care to do that?" It twisted her heart a little that he always seemed to ask her permission for things, as though she might for some reason turn him down. She responded with a quick yes and nuzzle into him, telling herself that she was not the only one who doubted things.

***AAA***

"Liam?" Elsa called out from the kitchen at about midnight. "What on earth did you do?"

He was sprawled out on the sectional couch, his head in the corner and one leg straight in front of him and the other hanging off the plush coffee table ottoman they were using. She had seen him there earlier, eyes shut and hands folded on his chest. For a moment she wondered if she had somehow slept through him being shot and left for dead, as his pose looked more like a chalk outline position than a good way to sleep. Disoriented, he lifted his head with hooded eyes in the dimly lit room and searched for the voice that was waking him.

"Liam?"

"Yes, darling," he said, scrambling up and running a hand through his unruly hair. "Did you need something? I can get you whatever you need."

She was bent forward over the refrigerator door, his navy t-shirt riding high up her thighs. "Want to explain this?"

The confusion still marred his face as he blinked back at her. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, was it on sale? All this ginger ale? I've counted 24 cans in here and three 12-packs in the pantry." She held up one of the cans in demonstration and tilted her head as if to ask if he wanted to argue with her about it.

"You're sick," he answered rather weakly, wondering to himself if this was one of the mood swings he had read about. He'd also read never to call it that or ask about it so he remained quiet.

"Was sick," she clarified, shutting the refrigerator. "I had a migraine from too much sun yesterday. And where is our coffee maker? Were we robbed?"

Blinking again, he followed her with his eyes as she paced the length of the galley kitchen that overlooked their living room. "Storage," he said, offering a one word answer that he thought would satisfy her since she was lifting pot holders in search of it or something else she had noticed was missing and hadn't mentioned yet.

"And the wine?" she asked, pointing at the expensive wine rack that he and Killian had assembled over three beers the other day. He was rather proud of it, though it looked empty and worthless at the moment without a single bottle in it. Briefly he considered telling her about something he'd seen on Pinterest about using a wine rack as a diaper organizer, but he decided against that suggestion.

"At Killian's."

"He's out of town," she said as though she was truly thinking through what she could only assume was her boyfriend's nervous breakdown. "You took our wine to your brother's while he was out of town. Your brother who has more wine than we have. Can I ask why?"

"It was too much of a temptation to leave here and wouldn't store well in the unit downstairs."

Her eyes were as big as saucers. "Are you in a 12-step program that I don't know about? Is this one of the steps?"

He took a deep breath, patting the seat beside him to no avail as she continued standing in the kitchen and looking about it wildly. "Elsa, please come here."

Arms crossed over her chest, she took what he assumed were the smallest steps in the world to get there. It took forever. "I know, darling. It was in some of the blogs this morning. I was trying to make things easier on you."

Lips pursed and nose wrinkled, she looked curiously at his profile. "I need a little more than that because I think you just said that you took away both my coffee and my wine to make life easier for me. Did you find religion or something?" She was suddenly having a vision of him in a monk's robe with a shaved head saying chants over and over.

"I know you're pregnant and those things aren't good for the baby."

Her eyes darted from him to the computer that was asleep in front of him and back again. She was going to give him a little credit, as he was smiling and looking rather pleased and proud. Wrong, but happy. "Honey, no, I'm not. Anna's pregnant. I'm not."

"You're not?" he asked, staring at the stack of papers he had printed out and placed under the newspaper. "Are you sure?"

"Kinda sure," she confirmed, running the back of her hand against his forehead and cheek as if to check for a fever. "You really thought I was."

"I cleared out the music room to make room for a crib and changing table." He was pouting, looking rather pathetic as all the day's activities came back to him. "I ordered books."

"You didn't order a crib, did you?"

"No," he answered sourly. "I was waiting on you for that. I applied for a few jobs. Even have an interview tomorrow." He dropped his head into his hands. "You're really not?"

"I would know," she reminded him. Opening her arms, she moved to envelop him in a hug, but she wasn't fast enough. He was already on his feet and grabbing his car keys off the hook they had set up near the front door. "Where are you going?"

"To my brother's to get back the wine."

I had to do it with Liam thinking Elsa was pregnant. My late husband did that to me. I was having a bad day and felt a little sick. He looked up the symptoms and thought I must be pregnant. When I woke up from my nap he had gotten rid of everything that might be harmful to a pregnant woman and was half way through baby proofing the house. A few months later I wanted to tell him I was pregnant and he didn't believe me.