That’s as close as she gets to expressions of motherly affection. I click off the call, tucking my phone into my black Fendi bag and cinching the belt of my Burberry coat as I step from the car. A brisk whip of wind smacks my cheek as the force of Luke’s smile hits me someplace I’d rather not ponder in a parking lot.
“Hello, Luke.”
His grin gets wider as he drags a hand through wind-tousled hair. “Hey, Hazel.”
“Thanks for coming.” I sound like I’m running a board meeting. “Glad you could be here.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” He snaps out an umbrella, angling it to shield us. “Can’t have the mother of my children getting drenched.”
“Oh—um, thank you.” Our elbows brush as he squeezes in close so we both fit. “That’s really not necessary.”
“Protecting you?” He chuckles. “Maybe not, but I want to.”
“All right.” Why do I sound so damn awkward? “Look, maybe you could refrain from referring to me as the mother of your children.”
“Sure, no prob.” He’s quiet a moment as we stride toward the entrance. “You prefer babymama?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Bio-mom?”
“What? No. That sounds like hazardous waste.”
“Hmm.” He cuts me off quickly as I reach for the door, grabbing the handle before me. He holds it open and waits while I walk through, still looking thoughtful. “I’m assuming you’re not a fan of me calling you the glorious maiden swelling with the fruit of my loins?”
I try not to dignify that with a response, but an unladylike snort slips out.
Luke takes the cue to keep going. “Birthgiver sounds kinda alien to me, but I’m good with it if you are.”
“I’m not.”
“Preggy lady?”
“Definitely not.”
“Didn’t think so.” He folds the umbrella as we survey the waiting room, all decked out in soothing hues of soft cream and tan. “Samantha and Maxine discussed this at their wedding reception. They plan to use ‘carrying parent’ and ‘non-carrying parent.’ Guess it’s the thing for lesbian couples.”
“Do we look like a lesbian couple?” I must say it too loudly because two women look up from the parenting magazine they’re reading together.
“Nope.” The darker-haired woman turns to her partner. “I don’t think so. Do you?”
The blond shakes her head. “He’s way too cute.”
Luke grins and thanks them as I march to the desk and pull out my insurance card. “Hazel Spencer,” I tell her. “I have an appointment for an ultrasound.”
“Of course.” The receptionist hands me a clipboard of forms, then glances at Luke. “Will your parenting partner be joining you in the exam room?”
“Um, yes.”
“Parenting partner?” Luke lifts an eyebrow. “Don’t I at least get to be ‘babydaddy’?”
The receptionist giggles, charmed. “You can be anything you want, darlin’.”
“In that case, I prefer ‘Dead Sexy Daddy.’”
The receptionist laughs as I shoot Luke a look and fill out the forms. Since there aren’t any individual chairs left, we sit stiffly together on a plush leather loveseat the shade of fresh straw. Well, I’m stiff. Luke’s legs splay to the sides, his big hands anchored on his knees as he surveys the space.
“Never been in here before,” he muses.
