I swatted at his arm. “An eight-week fetus does not have hair.”
“Our child will be exceptional,” he said, hugging me tight. “Just you wait and see.”
After what felt like an hour later, we were led to an ultrasound room. My legs shook as the tech gave me what looked like a roll of paper towels and told me to strip from the waist down.
Holding it up in front of me, I eyed Gus.
“You want me to leave?” he asked, heading for the door.
I shook my head. He’d seen it all before. Who cared if he saw the cellulite on my ass? I was beyond vanity. I needed to see this baby now.
When the tech returned, she sat at my side. “Okay. We need to do this vaginally.”
She held up a massive wand covered in jelly.
Jesus, way to jump into the deep end.
“Hold still, Ms. LeBlanc, and take a deep breath.”
Gus was on his feet, holding my hand, the connection feeling too damn right. Thank God he was here.
What a bitch I’d been, not telling him about the appointment. What was I trying to prove?
While we waited for her to get things going, I was flooded with shame. He wanted to be here, and I had absolutely no right to keep him away. And there’s no way I’d have been able to manage this alone.
I’d held a grudge for twenty years, and even if my heart never healed, this child did not deserve to be born into that.
As hard as it would be, I had thirty-two weeks to figure out how to forgive him. I was determined to do it, for the sake of our child.
The black and white screen was a mess of shadows and lines, making it hard to orient myself.
“Here we are,” the tech said.
There, on the screen, was a tiny bean. Our baby.
“Oh my God.” I was crying again, the tears coming fast, but this time for a totally different reason.
“See this flickering?” she said, pointing to the screen. “That is the heartbeat.”
I sucked in a long breath to quell my tears. It was unbelievable. The head and the spine and the arm buds and that constant flicker of its beating heart.
Gus leaned down and kissed my cheek, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen to acknowledge him.
“One hundred fifty beats per minute. A very strong heartbeat.”
“Look at that,” Gus murmured in my ear. “Our little lumberjack, growing strong in there.”
The tears were back—happy ones this time—dripping down my face. Wow, makeup had really been a waste today.
“We can’t see a lot right now, but I’m going to take some measurements, okay?”
We nodded eagerly. Even at eight weeks, only the size of a kidney bean, this baby was the most precious, beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my life.
“We made this,” he said, squeezing my hand.
“We did.”
“I’m so proud of you, Dragonfly.”
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
“You’ve done everything. You just don’t realize it.”
After the appointment, we sat in his truck, admiring the photos of our little bean.
“We should hit the natural food store while we’re here,” he said. “You can follow me in your car. I read that candied ginger can help with nausea.”
Shifting in my seat, I frowned. “You read? Where?”
He glared at me. “In a book. I am literate, Dragonfly.”
“You’re reading baby books?”
“Yes,” he said slowly, like this was the most obvious thing in the world. “We’re having a baby. I gotta do my research. You expect me to go in cold?”
My heart tripped over itself. What the hell? Men didn’t read baby books. Did they? And Gus? The thought of him sitting on his porch reading about fetal development made me smile. It also made me feel a bit guilty. I was very behind on my own research.
“How many have you read?” I pushed.
