"Hey, you coming home?"

"Yeah, I'm on my way,"

"How long you going to be?" I ask, barely able to contain my excitement,

"Uh, 'bout fifteen minutes,"

"Beautiful, see you then,"

"What's going on?" he asks, suspicious,

"Nothing. Bye!" I hang up before he asks anything else. I glance around at the living room. I've set up candles on the little table and I've made some stir-fry. The faux-animal throw is cast just by the fireplace, which is roaring. It's sick that we have a fireplace in New York City but...hey. I'm so excited. I walk around making sure everything is perfect. I fluff up the pillows which I've oh-so carefully strewn across the floorboards. I get our dinner into plates and tidy generally until I hear the click of the key in the door. I skip around to the door and Taylor is standing there, guitar in hand. He looks around at the living room,

"What's going on?" He smiles slowly. His blue eyes are wide and he is smiling, confused. I take him in at that moment: really look at him. He is so statuesque, the way he stands. He has so much charisma and charm. I look at him watching his smile and his blue eyes. They always amaze and intrigue me. They're so clear and so deep. Their changing hues are a basis for my fascination, when he's upset they change to a dark almost grey-blue, when he is thoughtful they are a bottomless blue and when he is happy it's like they have no depth and are as clear and translucent as water. I wonder what his features would look like combined with mine,

"I have something to tell you," I tell him in a singsong voice,

"What?"

"It's a secret," I smile,

"What? Are you pregnant?" he asks immediately. Bastard. I wanted to tell him! I grin at him,

"Seven weeks!"

"Gia!" he yells, picks me up and twirls me around, "Oh my god! We're having a baby!" He squeals and hugs me so tightly I'm almost afraid for the child we're carrying. He pulls back and kisses me gently,

"You're going to be a mom!"

"And you're going to be a dad," I reply, "You're going to have to take him to soccer or her to ballet," I chuckle,

"Oh my God," he breathes. He places a hand just below my stomach tentatively, "You're carrying my child in there," he looks down. He gazes at me,

"I'm so unbelievably happy,"

"I know what you mean,"

"I'm so glad you're the mom,"

"I'm so glad you're it's dad. There's no one else in the world I'd rather it be," I smile at him.