MAX'S POV
I don't know how it came to this.
One minute Dylan and I were knocking on Ella's door with a care package full of her favorite chocolate, biscuits, fruits, and some neutral-colored baby clothes that cost more than my last two paychecks combined. The next, we were in the park with a very pregnant Ella who had planted herself like a royal tree on a bench and was now refusing—refusing—to move.
"I'm not walking back," she said, her arms folded across her very round belly like a queen on a throne. "You want me to walk back with a watermelon strapped to my gut? Not happening."
"It's not a watermelon," Dylan mumbled, crouching in front of her like he was trying to negotiate with a bomb. "It's a baby. A cute baby. Possibly the future king."
Ella raised one perfectly arched eyebrow. "Then carry your future king back to the car, Dylan."
Dylan looked at me like I might have a better idea.
I did not.
