Ashton had always thought of himself as the type of guy who could handle pressure. Tight deadlines at Langston Holdings? No problem. Heavy freight on weekends when helping his dad? Easy. Even dealing with his partner's overprotective grandfather every day at the office? Manageable... barely.

But nothing—and he meant nothing—could've prepared him for the bomb she dropped on him the night before.

It started with her being too quiet on the walk home from work. Ash had noticed instantly, every muscle in his body tensing the second he realized she wasn't her usual chatty, tired-but-bubbly self. By the time they'd stepped into her apartment, he'd cornered her near the couch, demanding to know what was wrong in that low, quiet way of his—the voice he only used when he was scared but pretending he wasn't.

And then... she said it.

"Ash... I'm pregnant."

Three words. That was all it took to detonate something inside his chest.

For a full ten seconds, Ashton had stood frozen, staring at her like she'd just told him the sun wasn't real. His stomach had dropped straight to the floor. His heart had kicked against his ribs like it wanted out.

Memories of his parents flooded his head—his mom skipping meals, his dad working himself sick, the weight of overdue bills, the cold panic that had been a permanent part of his childhood.

And then there was her, standing there, looking at him with that vulnerable, terrified expression like she thought he might leave.

Like she didn't already know that leaving her was never an option.

He didn't remember crossing the space between them. One second he was stuck in his own head, the next he was holding her. Both arms wrapped tight around her, like he could physically protect her from every fear in both their heads.

He buried his face in her hair, breathed her in, and whispered, "Okay. It's okay. We're... we're gonna figure this out."

He'd said it like a promise. Even if part of him was still silently freaking out inside.

Even if his heart hadn't stopped pounding since.

Now... it was the next day.

And somehow, she'd managed to convince him that telling her grandfather over dinner was a good idea.

Ash had helped her cook—because no way in hell was he letting her stress alone, not now. They'd kept it simple: pasta, salad, some homemade garlic bread that she insisted on making from scratch even though her hands shook while slicing the loaf.

Ash spent most of the prep time stealing glances at her belly—not that there was anything to see yet—but the thought was there. Constant. Heavy. Terrifying. Beautiful.

The dinner table was set now. Plates out. Food hot. Apartment smelling like butter and oregano.

And Ash... was pacing.

He tried to act casual, leaning against the kitchen counter like he wasn't two seconds from losing his mind. Every muscle in his body stayed tight. Jaw clenched. Shoulders tense. Hands shoved deep in his pockets so she wouldn't see them shaking.

He kept telling himself: "You love her. You want her. This is with her. This isn't like your parents. You're not gonna screw this up."

But the second he heard the knock at the door, his stomach flipped.

Benjamin.

Great. Just great.

Ash straightened, wiped his palms on his jeans, and forced himself to stand near the dining table like this wasn't the most nerve-wracking moment of his entire damn life.

The door opened.

Benjamin stepped in with that same unreadable, slightly gruff expression he always wore—eyebrows low, gaze sharp like he was already suspicious.

The old man gave a quick glance at the table, then at Ash, then at her.

"Huh," Benjamin said, voice low and slow. "You two never invite me for dinner."

Ash swallowed hard. Forced a tight, almost-too-calm smile.

"Well... yeah. Guess we figured... tonight's special."

His heart raced. His hands curled into fists inside his pockets.

"God, please don't let me screw this up," he thought.

And with that, they all sat down.