Page 50 of Playboy

“What guys?”

Finally he turns to me, his cheeks an adorable shade of pink, and shakes his head.

I point a finger at him. “You made me promise I’d tell you everything I was thinking. Don’t go quiet on me now, Hall.”

His face splits into a wide smile. What the hell?

“Why are you smiling?” Despite my best efforts, I can’t help but return the expression. His happiness is contagious.

“You called me Hall.”

I roll my eyes and turn back. “Dork.”

The doctor chuckles and turns from the machine set up next to the table. “You two are adorable. So often, parents come in here scared and quiet.”

I glance at Daniel. I’m pretty sure we’re both scared, but he doesn’t let me go quiet. I kind of love it.

She examines me, and afterward, when she detaches a long device from the sonogram machine, explaining how she’ll use it to see the baby, I swear Daniel almost passes out.

“You have to put that inside her?”

I snort and turn my head so I can see him, the paper crinkling beneath me. “I’ve had bigger dildos. Calm yourself.”

The doctor drops her head back and barks out a laugh.

“You’re brutal, you know that?” Daniel squeezes my hand again, his tone light, easy.

I smile. “And you’re stuck with me for the next eighteen years. That’s quite a sentence.”

“I’ll become a career criminal,” he murmurs quickly, like no thought was put into it at all.

Once again, I’m trapped in his gaze, my lips lifting of their own accord.

I only break the expression to press my lips together when the doctor slides her special tool inside me.

Despite my effort to hide my discomfort, Daniel’s brow creases in concern.

“You okay?” he mouths.

With a nod, I smile again, hoping to ease his worry.

“Just give me a few seconds.” She shifts the object around, and a moment later, a whooshing sound fills the quiet room.

“Is that our—” My heart stutters as I study the image on the screen. It’s a little misshapen bean, its heart fluttering along with the beat echoing off the walls. Unbidden, tears prick at my eyes. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.

“That’s our baby’s heartbeat,” Daniel murmurs, his face next to mine.

I look back at him, and his lips brush against my cheek.

“That’s our baby,” he says, his voice stronger now.

“It is.” Despite all my fears and reservations, this moment just may be the greatest of my life. And though I was worried about lingering awkwardness, Daniel’s presence is nothing but a comfort.

“Everything looks good. The baby’s heartbeat is 178, and you’re measuring right at seven weeks. That puts your due date at”—she squints at her computer screen—“January twentieth.”

Somehow hearing that date makes it all seem more real. It only now hits me that we’ve got a finite period of time before our child arrives and upends our entire world.

“Right in the middle of hockey season,” Daniel mutters, his tone defeated.

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