Michael woke up to the sound of dragging furniture.
Not soft scraping.
Not mild shifting.
No—this was the kind of dragging that made the walls shake and the ceiling light wobble slightly.
He blinked at the alarm clock.
5:47 a.m.
He sat up. “Marnie…?”
A thud echoed from the living room.
He rubbed his face. “Oh, God. It’s happening.”
Nesting mode.
Pregnancy’s legendary, unstoppable phase.
He stepped out of the bedroom—and immediately froze.
The condo looked like a tornado had kissed a boutique and a department store at the same time.
Boxes everywhere.
Shopping bags lined up like soldiers.
Curtains halfway hung, halfway fallen.
Throw pillows piled at the corner like a colorful mountain.
Marnie stood in the middle, hands on her hips, wearing Michael’s loose shirt like a tiny w
