Page 32 of The Bartender's Baby

I couldn’t watch the screen light up. Nate didn’t look either, his gaze locked with mine, nodding, reminding me he wasn’t going anywhere.

I’d been feeling the tadpole move—even on the car ride over here, I had a foot or elbow jam into my side—but I’d been holding my breath until that strong heartbeat filled the room.I gasped in relief, tears stinging my eyes and flowing down my temples, into my hairline.

“Oh,” I cried. “Oh my god.”

Nate stood over me, his face so close to mine. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

He wiped at my face, both of us laughing a little deliriously—because he seemed relieved too—as he finally turned to view the screen, the technician busy tapping and typing and moving the wand around on my stomach.

“Look at that.” He rubbed his free hand over my arm. “Not much of a tadpole anymore, huh?”

“No.”

“Is that the heart?” he asked, and the technician zoomed in on the screen, to the flickering organ.

“Yes, and it looks great.” She moved the picture a tiny bit. “And these are the lungs. Nice and healthy.”

“Healthy,” I repeated, barely able to see through my tears.

“We have the kidneys…and spine.” Tap, tap, tap. “The top of the vertebra and skull.”

“Got a big brain in there,” Nate joked, glancing at me to run his knuckles over my temple. “Like its mama.”

The tech repositioned the wand. “Here’s the good stuff. You see that? The face.”

Nate inhaled audibly and stepped closer to the screen, mouth slack.

“Cute, right?” The technician smiled over her shoulder at us. “You think this baby takes after mom or dad more?”

Neither one of us corrected her. That Nate wasn’t the dad. But he did slant a glassy gaze at me, the corner of his mouth quirked up, his single lock of hair hanging over his brow. The rest a mess from his hands and how he’d been tugging at it on the drive over. He appeared perfectly rumpled and amazed.

Maybe even grateful.

And my heart burst wide open as he released the full strength of his smile. “This little frogger is the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen. Like its mother.”

The tech snapped a few pictures of the face, of the teeny tiny nose, the little mouth, and the waving hand that had all three of us chuckling.

We looked at the arms and legs, the bones Nate deemed sturdy, and then it came time.

“Would you like to know the sex?”

Nate raised his brow, obviously waiting for me to answer, but I didn’t know. Almost as if it was bad luck to find out. But that was silly, and I didn’t want to admit it.

“Could you put it in an envelope? Maybe we can look later,” Nate suggested, and I nodded, pleased with his idea.

“Yes, I can definitely do that for you.” She tapped and snapped and moved the wand around for a few more minutes before shutting everything down and wiping off my stomach with a towel. She left us with pictures and a manila envelope then wished us a good day and an easy rest of the pregnancy.

As soon as I had my shirt down, Nate gathered me into his arms right there in the exam room, letting me bury my face in the crook of his neck as I cried—this time from sheer, unbridled happiness.

“Frogger’s okay,” I whispered raggedly. “My baby’s okay.”

He pressed a lingering kiss to my temple. “More than okay. Perfect. Your baby is perfect.”

For so long, I had resigned myself to going through this journey alone, convincing myself it was better that way. I could avoid further heartbreak. But having Nate here, sharing my fear and joy, was the best thing that could have happened to me. Or Frogger.

And then this over-the-top, overprotective, outrageously idiotic man went and ruined it all when he said, “Move in with me.”

NINE

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