Page 131 of Embracing the Beat
I meet Michaela’s gaze. “Is that…” Words fail me as wonder fizzes through my body.
She smiles and nods. “That’s our baby.”
Our baby.
Fucking hell. It hits me in the solar plexus. My nose burns, and pressure builds behind my eyes, but I don’t care.
“Our baby.” I shift, pressing my lips to Michaela’s temple, relieved when she doesn’t pull away.
Several measurements are captured—including the gestational age putting the baby between twelve and fourteen weeks—before Jeanne prints out several pictures on her portable printer.
“Baby’s first photos?” she asks, handing me several.
I check with Michaela for confirmation, and she nods. “I didn’t get one at my first ultrasound. Not a ton to see.”
“These are incredible,” I tell her, my lips drawn to her forehead in a way I can’t resist.
“I need to buy a frame for these,” I tell her after Jeanne leaves.
She smiles. “I bet your mom or Whitney will know where to find one.”
“They’re really excited to take you shopping. And I think my mom is over the moon that her second grandchild is in California too.”
“Your parents live close to your sister, right?” she asks.
“Yeah. It’s only about a five-hour drive from here.”
“What about you?” she asks.
“Every job I’ve applied for is in the LA area. I’m not living five hours away from you.”
I love the faint pink that fills her cheeks at my words. It gives me hope.
“I was going to give you something earlier, but didn’t get the chance.”
She tilts her head with a curious look. “What?”
I reach into my pocket, pulling out a small box I haven’t been able to let go of since I bought it. My good-luck charm.
“This is for you.”
Her breath catches in surprise as she eyes it suspiciously. In her defense, it looks like a ring box.
“Open it,” I tell her, watching as she pulls in a deep breath. It isn’t a ring.
Not yet anyway.
“What is it?” she asks, lifting the lid and pulling out the smaller box inside.
“Guess you better open it and see.”
She rolls her eyes but lifts the lid slowly, her free hand lifting to her mouth at what she sees nestled against the velvet.
“Oh.”
“Do you like it?” I ask.
Right before I left for California, I was wandering near Independence Square and found the pendant in a shop window. It’s white gold, the image of a mother in profile, her forehead touching a child’s. Some might call the image Madonna. But I just refer to it as my heart.
