Every cabinet and closet I looked in had been stashed with more odd foods. There were nuts in the bathroom drawers. There were chips—of almost every brand and style—stuffed in the guest bathtub. Apparently, I have a small juicer in my closet too.

But even as funny as this is, I can’t help but love him a little more for how much thought he put into his weird stocking.

I round the couch, grabbing the remote and clicking on the TV as I go. I spot the mail and snatch it up before settling on the couch. When I lean back, I feel it. I’ve felt it a few times before, but this time, I can clearly feel my son making his presence known.

“Asher!” I scream, a huge smile taking over my face.

He comes tearing into the room, looking all over for a threat before settling his confused eyes on me. “What’s wrong?” he gasps.

“Come here! Hurry.” I keep my hands in the spot, the spot he is steadily kicking against from my womb. “Here, give me your hand!” He reaches out without question, kneeling on the floor next to my leg. “Do you feel it?”

“Do I feel what, Sunshine?” He hasn’t stopped looking at my belly, where my hand is pressing his larger one hard against my swollen stomach. I wait for it, praying as hard as I can that I get another firm kick. It takes a few minutes before I know he’s felt it. His eyes widen, and I watch as complete euphoria takes place of the confusion. His eyes shoot up to mine and I smile at him.

“Can you believe it?” I whisper, afraid that, if I speak any louder, I might scare the baby and he will stop.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs under his breath. Looking back up at me, he continues. “Absolutely beautiful. Thank you for making sure I shared that with you, Sunshine.” He leans in and gives me his sweet kiss before bending down and placing one against my belly. “God, I love you—both of you,” he says with a smile.

“I love you too, and if you want me to keep loving you as much as I do, you need to go cook my dinner.”

He throws his head back, his rich laughter raining around me, and I love every second of it. I watch him walk back, his firm cheeks looking hot as hell in his shorts.

Damn, I’m one lucky woman.

“Ten minutes,” he calls from the kitchen.

“Gotcha.”

I turn my attention back to the mail. Just bills, gossip magazines, and some junk. Apparently it’s been a few days since I checked the mail. It’s never full of this much junk. I am just about to toss everything except the bills when I catch an envelope that must have fallen from my pile. It’s just a plain, white envelope with my apartment number on it. Weird.

After tossing the other mail on the coffee table, I peel the back open and pull out the folded piece of paper before unfolding the single sheet and flipping it over so I can read the print. I gasp when I see the words that are staring back at me.

If you know what’s good for you – you’ll back the fuck off now. Or else.

Oh my God! I can’t stop my body from the uncontrollable fear that has taken over. My muscles have seized up in horror of what I hold in my hands. Coming out of my shock, I throw the letter from my grasp and jump from the couch before running into the kitchen.

Asher looks amused at first—until he sees whatever look I’m sporting.

“Chelcie, what is it? Are you okay?” He starts roaming his hands along my body, looking for something visible that would make me this upset.

I just keep shaking my head, my breathing becoming erratic. His eyes get hard, and I can see the panic he’s trying to hide.

“You have to tell me what has got you so upset so I can take care of it. Please,” he begs.

Words are still beyond me. I pick my hand up and point one shaky finger towards the living room.

“You stay here, okay? I’ll be right back.”

I nod my head and hear him walk through the apartment. I know when he finds it because I hear his roar and feel its power shake the walls.

He comes bursting back into the kitchen; his arms go around my body. One arm is holding me tight at my waist, the other cradling the back of my neck, holding my head to his chest. I can feel the power of his anger raging in his body.

“I promise you—I will find out who the fuck sent that. You let me take care of this, Chelcie. I mean it. No harm is going to come to you or our boy.”

I continue to shake in his arms, terrified for him, the baby, and me. He doesn’t let up on his hold. I can smell our dinner burning, but I can’t stop my body from the overpowering dread. What does this mean? Who was that for?

And more importantly, what now?