The room was already dim, and when I return, Scarlett lays on the table wearing a cloth gown. She looks nervous, and without thinking, I reach for her hand, giving it an extra squeeze. The technician returns to the room immediately after me and takes her seat opposite me. Lifting up Scarlett’s gown to expose her belly, there really isn’t much of a bump to her, at least nothing noteworthy, though she’s softer in the middle, and her breasts are huge.
“This might be cold,” the sonographer warns, squirting some kind of gel on Scarlett’s belly before rubbing a special wand over her skin. I’m not up on my baby terminology or even all the tests Scarlett will need, but I want to be here for her. I find myself holding my breath as the technician moves the wand over Scarlett’s stomach, then turns a dial on the machine, and an image appears on the screen.
Whomp-whomp-whomp-whomp-whomp.
The room is full of a rapid pulsing sound, and Scarlett smiles as she stares at the fuzzy black and white screen. With my fingers wrapped around hers, I lift her hand and press my lips to her knuckles. She turns her head toward me, blinking as a soft tear slides from the side of one eye.
“You’re doing good, Mom,” I say to her.
“Mom,” she whispers.
“Looks healthy, Dad,” the technician states to include me. My mouth falls open to explain our situation, but Scarlett’s fingers squeeze mine. I glance at her, and she shakes her head while smiling at me, and my own heart thumps. I soak up the moment, sharing it with Scarlett as we hear Sprout’s heartbeat for the first time.
“That was amazing,” I say to Scarlett once we’re back in my truck. Taking a second to recover, I tip my head back and blink up at the ceiling. Who would have thought another’s heartbeat could make mine patter as well? Scarlett has been holding the image the sonographer printed. It’s impossible to distinguish anything, so we’ll be back in a few weeks to admire the growth and changes of Sprout. For now, it’s just a relief to hear a healthy heartbeat.
We decided to skip the paternity test for now. I’m the one who spoke up when the doctor entered and presented the facts to Scarlett. There were risks, like anything in life, but I wasn’t willing to take any unnecessary ones. The second the doctor mentioned a risk of miscarriage, I spoke up.
“We won’t be having the test yet.”
The doctor redirected her gaze to Scarlett. Her body. Her choice. I get that, but the pressure I had on Scarlett’s hand must have told her how scared I was for her body and her choice. I didn’t want her to take the chance of losing Sprout.
“Maybe we can wait until the next visit.” I almost fell over her in relief. Instead, I leaned forward and kissed her forehead, lingering as I muttered my gratitude.
I’m still wound up, and Scarlett’s too far away from me, sitting on the other side of the bench seat.
“Scarlett, sweetheart, get over here.” The demand gives her the chance to deny me, but I’m really hoping she doesn’t. I need a moment with her close to me. Setting the photograph on the dashboard, Scarlett twists and scoots toward me. My arm is extended over the back of the seat, and I wrap it around her, pulling her to me. I inhale her hair, which smells sweet and sugary. Her arms are trapped between us, but Scarlett likes to hug up top, as I call it, so her arms slip upward, wrapping around my neck and bringing her tighter against me. Like this, my nose dips to her neck, and I inhale her floral perfume, mixing with the sugary scent of her hair. My mouth waters, and I can’t help myself. I suck at her skin. The motion is quick, but the suction strong, and Scarlett gasps near my ear.
“You’re amazing, sweetheart.” I pull back enough to look down at her mouth, and our foreheads meet for a brief second before my lips touch hers. At first, I only intend to give her a tender kiss. We need to celebrate. She’s having a baby, and we heard the heartbeat. She needs to be congratulated. But when her mouth opens, my tongue has its own agenda, rushing forward to sweep against hers. Scarlett leans into me, and all thoughts are lost to the touch of her tongue swirling with mine. My fingers fist the back of her shirt as hers curl into my hair at the nape of my neck. She softly tugs, and I lower to her jaw, sucking at the ridge before moving down to her neck. Scarlett purrs, and the next thing I know, I’m leaning her back, lowering her for the bench seat.
“God, Scarlett, I just want to touch you.” My fingers move for her skirt, pulling up the material along her thigh. I want her right here in the front seat of my truck.
“Bull,” she whimpers as my mouth continues to suck at her neck. “It’s broad daylight.” Quickly, I lift my head as if I’ve forgotten what time of day it is or even where we are. We’re still parked in the medical office parking lot.
“Shit,” I hiss, dropping my forehead to her sternum. Her chest heaves under me as her fingers stroke through my hair. Her touch feels so good, and after weeks without her, I want to be with her again.
“Okay,” I mutter, sitting upright and bringing her with me. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be sorry,” she says, sheepishly looking over at me while biting her bottom lip.
“Do not look at me like that,” I warn, my eyes narrow while there’s no bark to my bite.
“Like what?”
“Like you’d let me eat you right here on this front seat.”
Her mouth falls open, but she smiles slowly before returning her teeth to that bottom lip. Dammit. Broad daylight or not . . .
“Okay,” Scarlett whispers, seeing something in my expression. She pushes off the seat and slides herself to the passenger door while keeping her eyes on me for another second. Then she reaches toward the dash for the baby image.
Straining in my jeans, I adjust myself before pressing the ignition button and firing up the truck’s engine. We have a good forty-minute ride back to the house, which leaves my thoughts racing. Halfway into the drive, I can’t take the silence.
“Whatcha thinking about over there, sweetheart?”
“Too many things,” Scarlett states. Is she sorry she kissed me? Is she overthinking what almost happened on this seat? Is she upset I canceled the paternity test? Would she be upset if it turned out to be his? I wait out her silence.
“I think I need a more lucrative job, and I suppose I need my own place.”
I don’t like the sound of either of those things, but I tackle one item at a time.
“What’s wrong with Busy Bean?”
“Nothing’s wrong with it, but doesn’t it seem strange that I’m working there? I’m a college-educated woman, who had a lucrative job, but now I’m pouring coffee for people and passing out pastries.”
“You don’t think Audrey and Zara are educated? College isn’t the only place to learn life skills. In fact, I might argue there’s a lot about life you don’t learn in college.”
“I’m not disagreeing. I know Audrey actually dropped out of college and went to culinary school, and Zara never went away, but she’s been a businesswoman for years. It’s different for them. They own the place.”
“So?” I pause. “You could own your own business, too.”
“That’s just it. What would I do? I don’t know that I’d be good at running a business. I was a good reporter.”