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“I hardly see how that’s relevant,” he answers.
He turns on the radio.
“Seriously? You’re still on the death metal?” he asks. “Isn’t that going to make our baby come out with hooves or craving blood or something?”
“Metal is closest in relation to classical music, and everyone knows that classical music makes babies smarter.”
“Oh, it does not. That was just a misquote, saying…” he trails off into laughter.
“Look,” I tell him, gazing up at the sky through the windshield.
“What?”
“The stars,” I tell him. “There are a lot of them tonight.”
“Leila?”
“Yeah?”
“I love the fuck out of you.”
“Thanks,” I answer. “Dane?”
“Yeah?”
“Have you ever given any thought to joining the fire department?”
He laughs. “I’ll be your fireman.”
