“Because of the way I handled telling you about this.”
“Eh.” He chuckles and rests his hand over mine. It’s big and warm and sets off a fresh flow of fuzzy-warm feelings. “Water under the bridge, babe.”
“Don’t call me babe.” I don’t actually mind, and he knows it.
“Madona with child?”
“Luke—”
“Bodacious bakery with two little buns in the oven?”
“I’m serious.”
“Yeah, I get that. So you’re thinking more like enceinte?”
His French pronunciation is terrible, but I think that’s deliberate. “No.”
“That’s what my sister’s mother-in-law insisted on calling her when Amy was incubating my niece. She wasn’t amused.”
“I can imagine.” I already know Luke’s sister is a small-town police chief married to Hollywood heartthrob Cooper Judson. “Her mother-in-law is Shirleen Judson, right?”
“Yep. Sex siren of seventies cinema and drama goddess of modern times.” He chuckles again, a sound I’m beginning to love. “She’s a handful, but Amy’s got capable hands.”
For some reason I glance down at his hands, one of which still covers mine. His is weathered and huge, forming a callused dome of protection. For some silly reason, tears prick my eyes again.
“Your mom’s being supportive?” I ask. “About the pregnancy, I mean.”
“Definitely. She’s dying to meet you. Started sewing baby clothes already. Don’t worry,” he says quickly. “I told her we need to give you space.”
“Thank you.” I hesitate. “She sounds like a great mom.”
“The best.” Luke squeezes my hand. “You’ll be amazing, too. I can tell. Mother of the year material right here.”
“Thank you.” This time there’s no holding back tears. One of them falls with a splat on the clipboard. I turn my face so Luke doesn’t see.
Hold it together, Hazel.
A woman in blue hospital scrubs steps through a doorway, consulting a tablet. “Hazel Spencer?”
“That’s me.” I spring to my feet with Luke right behind me. A man and a woman in the corner glance up, trading a glance and a whisper. I hold my head high, praying they haven’t connected my name to Spencer Holdings. To the headlines that screamed through the news cycle during Dad’s trial.
Maybe I should have used a pseudonym.
Luke rests a hand on the small of my back, and I consider telling him not to. But something about it feels soothing, so I give in and let him guide me toward the exam room.
“Here we are.” The woman in scrubs hands me a gown, which surprises me. “For the transvaginal portion of the ultrasound,” she explains. “Your doctor ordered it in addition to the standard transabdominal screening. It’s common with twin pregnancies.” She glances at Luke, then back to me. “Would you like your partner to stay in the room for both portions of the exam?”
“Oh, he’s not my partner.” Heat fills my cheeks. “I mean, he isn’t my husband or boyfriend. We’re not together.”
Luke tilts his head. “I mean, we have been together.” He slings a meaningful look at my belly. “Obviously.”
“Only that once.” Why am I saying this?
“Twice,” Luke counters with a grin as the ultrasound tech looks bemused. “Three times if you count the next morning in the shower when?—”
“I meant we’re not dating.” I hate that I can’t seem to shut up. “We’re not together together.”
Luke snorts. “Together enough for you to get pregnant.”
