Cinder
Two months later
I stand in our kitchen, arms crossed, glaring at the empty spot on the counter where my favorite chocolate chip cookies should be. Pike walks in, a sheepish grin on his face, and I shoot him a death glare that could melt steel.
“Come on, Cinder, it’s not the end of the world. They didn’t have them at the store,” he says, trying to sound soothing. His voice grates on me like nails on a chalkboard. “We can try another store tomorrow.”
“Easy for you to say,” I mutter, rubbing my gigantic belly. It feels swollen and heavy, impossible to ignore. “You’re not the one with pregnancy cravings.”
“True,” he admits, chuckling softly as he moves towards me. His hand reaches out to stroke the side of my stomach, his touch gentle and comforting despite my irritation. “But loo
