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“I’m gonna take a few measurements and then we’ll listen to the heartbeat.” She clicks and measures, clicks and measures, clicks and measures before finally that amazing swoosh fills the room. “One-hundred-and-fifty beats per minute…perfect.”
Stacia looks my way with a soft smile on her face, one that I return easily before grabbing her hand.
“All right, let’s see if we can find out if you’re having a boy or a girl.”
She switches to a different Doppler, and the image on the screen changes from black and white to more of a sepia.
Stacia’s gaze swings to Rachel. “Why is it different?”
“Because we’re doing a four-D ultrasound now.” She presses the paddle, moving it until an image forms on the screen.
“Oh my God,” Stacia breathes out, awe lacing her every word. “That…that’s our baby.”
I choke up a little, too, at the sight of those chubby cheeks and little button nose.
Rachel moves and clicks again, and this time, our little one has a hand pressed up to their face.
“Okay, let’s see if baby is going to show us what we want to see.”
It feels like ages before another image forms. “Oh, there we go. Congrats, Mom and Dad, you’re having a boy!”
Stacia and I are both openly crying—and I don’t give one single fuck if that makes me less masculine. I just found out I’m having a son; I’m allowed to be emotional.
“Holy shit, baby,” I say as I stand, pressing a kiss to my girl’s temple. “Can you believe it?”
She scoffs through her tears. “Believe that your super sperm managed to produce a boy? Yeah, I can believe it.”
Rachel laughs softly. “Do y’all have any names picked out?”
“We have a running list,” Stacia admits, “but we haven’t settled on anything just yet.”
“I have a little game I play with my patients. Though, sometimes it doesn’t end well.” Rachel sort of laughs. “Want to give it a try?”
Stacia and I exchange a glance before agreeing—hesitantly.
“Great. I’m going to count, and on three, you’ll both say the name you like the most.”
I toss my head back and laugh; yeah, I can see this game causing some arguments, but I think Stacia and I have got this.
“One…two…three!”
“Asher!” we both shout, grinning like fools.
“Really?” Stacia asks with a gorgeous grin tipping her pink lips up.
“Really. Asher…Asher Kenneth Larson.”
She nods, teary eyed again. “Yes. It’s perfect.”
Chapter Forty
Stacia
“Hey, Asher, it’s your daddy.”
The sound of West murmuring to my belly as his big hands cradle it wakes me from my nap. I’d be pissed if I could, but hearing him talk to our son turns me into a big pile of mush.
Wanting to eavesdrop a little longer, I keep my eyes closed and breaths deep and even.
“How are you today, bud? Are you giving your mama a hard time? You must be keeping her up at night; she passed out after lunch today.”
He pauses, as if the baby is going to reply. Gah! The cuteness!
“We’re excited to meet you. I know your mama can’t wait to hold you. Your aunt AJ, too.”
It takes serious self-control to keep from smiling, but with herculean effort, I manage.
“I bet you’re gonna be handsome as hell, little man. Gonna be making all the little girl babies swoon in their diapers. Hell, their mamas, too.”
I can’t take it a second longer. A lighthearted, love-drenched giggle breaks free.
West peers up at me with a tender smile before bringing his attention right back to my belly. “Your mama’s up now; I wonder if you can tell when she’s awake from your little place in there?”
I groan and stretch before sitting up, resting my back against the headboard. “Sorry I fell asleep.”
West moves to sit next to me, and I drop my head onto his shoulder. “No worries, baby mama; I hear growing a human is hard work.”
I nod. “It is, very.”
“You ready for tonight?” he asks, looping a strand of my hair around his index finger.
“I think so, yeah. I mean, I’m nervous for sure, but ready.”
“It’s gonna be great. Everyone will be excited.”
“You really think so?” I ask, my stomach hollowing as anxiousness jitters through me.
“I do, baby.”
The second we walk into my grandparents’ house, a sense of deep contentment fills me.
Football plays on the television, the volume turned up a hair too loud as my dad and Grandpa yell at every call the ref makes.
The smell of homemade apple crumb pie and from-scratch chicken and dumplings fills every square inch of the small house.
It’s loud and chaotic and warm—really freaking warm—but it’s perfect, and I wouldn’t change a single thing. Even better is that West wastes no time in jumping right into the fray.
“Dinner’s ready!” Gramma yells, and even though the game isn’t anywhere near over, everyone scrambles into the kitchen to make their plate. Football may be sacred in the South, but my grandmother’s food is a straight-up religious experience.
