Page 42 of Stone Vows

“Thanks.” Skylar studies Elizabeth for a second. “You know, I might be able to help you out with your roots if you want. I have a great hairdresser who makes house calls.” She pulls a piece of paper out of her purse and hands it to Elizabeth. “Here, write down what brand and color you’ve been using and I’ll give it to her to match. If you want, I can see if she can come with me when I bring next week’s lasagna.”

“You don’t have to do that, Skylar. It can wait until I get home.”

“I know I don’t. And I also know how tired you’ll be once the baby comes. This may be your last chance for months to have a touch up. So, unless you plan on going full-on brunette . . .” She nods to the paper.

Elizabeth smiles and writes something down.

I feel like a brick wall just slammed into my chest.

She’s a fucking brunette?

Someone drops something in the hallway behind me and Elizabeth finally notices I’m standing here. “Oh, hi, Kyle. Skylar just brought me the best lasagna. Have you ever had Mitchell’s lasagna?”

Skylar and I share a look. “Once or twice,” I say.Or a hundred times.

“I’m out of here,” Skylar says, stopping to kiss me on her way by.

I nod in thanks as I wheel the ultrasound machine into Elizabeth’s room.

“Will that thing see all the lasagna I just ate?” she jokes. “Because it might be embarrassing. I ate a lot.”

“You’re allowed to,” I say. “You are eating for two.”

“I don’t know.” She looks down at her leftovers. “More like three or four if you ask me.”

I stare at the dark roots beginning to show in the part of her hair, wondering how I’ve never noticed this before. She looks like a blonde with her sun-kissed face and striking blue eyes. She looks good as a blonde. Then again, I thought she looked good in blue when it wasn’t her best color at all.

I find myself trying to picture her as a brunette—but I stop. I stop when I realize I’m getting dangerously close to that line again.

“Ready?” I ask.

“Are you kidding?” She squirms in the bed like it’s Christmas morning.

I smile as I unhook her from the monitor and then squirt the gel onto her abdomen.

“Don’t—”

“Show the salami or the cheeseburger,” I say, finishing her words for her. The same words she says every day when we do this.

Last week on my day off, the resident assigned to her saw the note in her chart and made a joke about not showing her the salami or the cheeseburger. On an ultrasound, a girl’s parts resemble the layering of a burger. I’d call it more of a hamburger myself, but whatever.

I quickly locate the placenta and make sure it’s not tearing. Everything looks good from a medical standpoint.

“What’s it going to be today?” I ask. “Hand, foot, face?”

“Yes,” she says, with a hopeful grin.

Not able to deny this woman anything, I begin from the top down. The baby is opening and closing her mouth as if she’s chewing. “Looks like he or she wants the lasagna,” I say.

Elizabeth laughs, causing her belly to jiggle which in turn has the baby moving.

I find one of her arms and work down toward the hand. I know how much Elizabeth likes to count the fingers. She raises her hand to the monitor and traces the outline of her tiny fingers.

“Still five?” I ask.

She rolls her teary eyes at me before she looks back at her daughter.

But I’m still looking ather. Jesus Christ, she’s beautiful. The way she looks at her baby. I’ve never seen so much love on someone’s face before. I try to look away, but I can’t.

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