I nodded, trying to take a slow breath. My heart felt like it was thudding in my throat.
“Everything looks great,” she continued. “Last time, you said you wanted to think on it...”
“We want to know,” I cut in quickly.
She sputtered a soft laugh. “Okay then. It’s a boy.”
I pressed a hand to my chest as a rush of emotion slammed into me. Kincaid squeezed my hand tightly, and I could barely form words. “Wow,” I finally managed.
“Wow,” Kincaid echoed, sounding stunned.
She looked between the two of us. “Are we happy with that news?”
“Oh, we’d have been happy either way,” I said quickly. “Which is why we wanted to know. This way we can plan.”
“Now you can obsess over names,” she teased. “I should add, everything else looks good.”
“So everything is okay?” Kincaid pressed.
“Exactly. Your little boy is developing right on schedule, and he looks like he’s going to be big. There’s a range, and he’s on the upper end of it.”
Kincaid nodded along calmly, while I couldn’t speak for a moment. My chest was tight, my throat knotted with emotion. Tears were stinging the corners of my eyes.
“Is there anything else we need to do today?” I finally asked, my voice a little hoarse.
“Not a thing,” she said with a smile. “You’ve got all your appointments lined up and you can just call the office to schedule if anything unexpected comes up. But I don’t anticipate that. You’re healthy, and your baby is healthy.” She looked between us again. “Any more questions for me?”
I glanced over at Kincaid. He raised his brows in question, and I gave my head a slight shake. “No, I don’t think so.”
“All right,” she said, standing. “I’ll see you at your next appointment.”
Later that night, we were back at Kincaid’s house. I was still working on calling it mine. I had officially moved in a few weeks ago. It made sense. He owned the house, and there was more space. His mom still lived in the in-law suite beside the main house, and Bella loved the fenced yard. He’d put a fence up just for her. Not that she ever wandered far, but she definitely enjoyed meandering on her own terms and sprawling out in the sunshine.
At the moment, she was napping beside the table on the back deck, the breeze rustling in the trees.
“What do you think?” Kincaid asked, lifting his glass of water and tipping it toward me. We had just finished dinner—grilled salmon with asparagus and sweet potatoes. I had quickly discovered that Kincaid was not only a solid cook but also pretty talented with the grill. His mom liked to tease that it was his “manly cooking.”
I took a sip of my water and tilted my head. “I don’t know. We could name him after your dad?”
“Seriously?” His brows hitched high. “What about your dad?”
The idea had been bouncing in my brain ever since we found out we were having a boy, and I knew that my dad would have been thrilled. But naming our son after him felt too emotionally complicated for me.
I shook my head decisively. “Too messy for me. I don’t think I can do that.”
“Whatever you think?” His tone lilted in question.
“We could name our baby after you,” I replied.
He looked honestly shocked, his eyes going wide and brows slamming up to his hairline.
“People name their own kids after themselves all the time,” I pointed out.
“True,” he said, “but I feel weird about us having the same name. Then we have to do nicknames, and it just feels messy.”
“Okay, okay,” I said with a laugh.
I grinned. “Should we ask your mom and my mom? Wait,” I said suddenly, an idea clicking into place. “I know what we can do.”
