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“Clarke?” Bellamy shuts and locks the front door behind him, hanging his coat up on the hook and leaving his keys and bag on the table by the door.
“In the kitchen!” She yells and Bellamy frowns. Clarke was good at a lot of things, but cooking was not one of them. He did the cooking most nights.
“Sweetheart, why are you in the kitchen?” Bellamy asks, sitting down at one of the stools along the counter.
“Calm down, it’s just pasta.” She tells him, leaning over the island to give him a kiss. “Nothing extravagant.”
“You have paint on your cheek.” He tells her, swiping at it with his thumb. “And dinner smells great.”
“I have news,” She says excitedly, bounding around the island so she’s standing in front of him.
“Good news I take it?” Bellamy says, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear.
“I’m pregnant!” Clarke blurts out, beaming at him and Bellamy grins back at her, smiling wide enough that his cheeks ache.
“Really?” He asks, reaching out and gripping her hands in his own.
“According to three different tests, really.”
“Clarke,” He laughs, pulling her into him. “We’re going to be parents!”
“I know!” She says, laughing with him. “We have a doctor’s appointment next Monday to check things out, but everything is great so far.”
“How are you feeling?” He asks, always concerned about her.
“I’m fine, honestly I feel great.” She steps into the v his legs make and wraps her arms around his shoulders, hooking her chin over his shoulder. “I’m excited for this, for us to be a family.”
“So am I.” Bellamy tells her sincerely, his arms coming up around her waist, fingers splayed across her sides. “We’re having a baby, Clarke.”
“We are.” She says softly, the words digging her chin more tightly into his shoulder.
“It’s going to be a girl,” He tells her and she laughs again.
‘And how could you possibly know that?” She asks him, stepping back and raising her eyebrows at him.
“It’s just a feeling.” He says, stroking her cheek. “My two girls.”
“And what if it’s a boy?” Clarke asks amused.
“Then we have a boy,” He says with an easy shrug. “Still going to be a girl though.”
“Sure,” Clarke says, heading back into the kitchen. “If you’ll excuse me, my pasta is burning.”