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I shrugged. “Sorry. I like being down here with the diehards.”

The guy in front of us had to be listening, and glanced back. A smile froze on his face. “You’re Kayla Harris.”

I smiled. “Sure am.”

“Holy shit, can we take a selfie together?”

“Well, yeah,” I said, grinning. I’d been working with Fox Sports for the last two seasons as a sideline reporter, but still wasn’t used to being recognized. It was always a treat when it happened, especially now since I was on a travel hiatus. “But, hang on. I’m about to die of heatstroke.” I gripped the hem of my number eighty-eight Bears jersey and struggled out of it. It was cooler once I was down to my white undershirt, and I passed Frank my jersey to hold. “You mind?”

Frank smiled and shook his head.

The Bears fan stared at the writing on my shirt, and confusion played across his face. “Uh, didn’t your husband play for Michigan?”

“He did.” My focus drifted to the field where Jay was going through his pregame warmup with his teammates. My husband seemed destined to always wear blue, but at least it was a good color on him.

The Bears fan’s skeptical gaze went from my stomach up to my eyes. “I can’t imagine he likes that shirt much.”

I snorted. “Oh, he’s used to it.”

It was getting harder every day to find shirts that fit, and when I’d put this one on this morning, Jay, who’d been lying in bed, took one look and roared with laughter.

“I’m going to take a wild guess,” he’d said. “That’s from your mother.”

“She sent it last week.”

He’d crawled across our bed and put his hands on either side of the writing stretched over my enormous belly. It read, ‘Future Ohio State Buckeye.’

“Hey, baby,” he whispered to our son. “Don’t listen to any of the crazy things your grandmother says. You can go to whatever school you want to.”

I placed my hands on top of Jay’s. “Except Michigan State.”

“Except Michigan State,” he agreed, his expression serious.

It was more proof of just how perfect we were together.

THE END


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