Diana had three ultrasounds. During the first one, at eight weeks, she cried tears of happiness. For the second one at twenty weeks, she was a nervous wreck, and she kept asking if they’d found anything wrong with the baby, anything at all. In retrospect, I have to wonder if she was looking for some excuse to end the pregnancy. The final ultrasound came later on, when she thought she was having contractions at twenty-eight weeks.

All was well. Every single time.

At the end of the next week, with Ben in a morning art class, I wait for Roxy outside a brownstone off Fifth Avenue and Eightieth Street. I’m admittedly a snob for liking that she goes to a swank doctor’s office.

Only the best for my . . . friend.

She’s my friend, I remind myself.

Only a friend.

I’m early, so I pace back and forth.

Just to pass the time.

Not because I’m nervous.

Except, fine, I’m nervous.

Or maybe I’m excited.

I don’t know what the hell this jitterbug feeling in my chest is.

All I know is when I spot her walking toward me, the sun haloing her face, her curves becoming curvier, my hands ache to touch her. To slide along her bare arms, to sneak under her summery blue blouse. To explore her soft skin and lush body.

She gives a radiant grin. But there’s a touch of worry in there too when she greets me. “Hey.” Her voice seems fragile.

“It’s going to be great,” I tell her, because my job is to be Captain Enthusiasm. I lean in and brush a kiss across her cheek. She trembles the slightest bit, and that reaction turns me on far too much for a doctor’s appointment.

I pull back and tuck a strand of her hair over her ear. “You ready?”

She nods. “I’m ready to meet the cat.”

In the waiting room, she fidgets. She flicks open her phone as if she’s going to read, then she stuffs it back into her purse. I rub her shoulder, trying to let her know that everything will be okay.

She looks at me and gives a faint smile. “Thanks, Miles. I guess I’m nervous.”

“It’s okay to be nervous.”

She’s like that for the next fifteen minutes, until her name is called. When she stands, her hand darts out, grabbing mine like a vise. I thread my fingers through hers, squeezing.

An assistant leads us to an exam room and tells us the ultrasound tech will be here in a few minutes and then the doctor will stop by. Roxy thanks her, and when the door closes, I eye the hospital gown on the exam table.

“That gown is sexy. Can’t wait to see you in it.”

She furrows her brow, starts to say something, then seems to shift gears, her tone turning inviting and flirty. “It is pretty racy.” She picks it up and holds it in front of her. “You think I’d look good in it, Miles?”

I shrug playfully. “Won’t know till I see it on.” I cross my arms and smile.

She stares at me pointedly.

“Do you want me to go?”

“You’ve never seen me naked,” she says dryly.

“We could rectify that in about two seconds.”

She sighs playfully. “Turn around. You’re not seeing my boobs for the first time in an exam room.”

I do as she asks crossing my arms, smiling like a madman. “I take it that means I will be seeing your boobs at some point.”

The answer, such as it is, arrives wordlessly when a pink bra lands on my shoulder. “Oops. Missed your chance.”

I snap my fingers. “Dammit.” I grab the bra and turn around.

She’s in her cropped pants with the hospital gown on top, perched on the exam table, kicking her bare feet back and forth. She grins.

“Barefoot and pregnant,” I tease then set her bra on top of her folded blue top.

She wiggles her eyebrows, asking in a purr, “But how hot is my gown?”

I stalk over to her, place my palms on either side of her waist, and bring my face close to hers, giving her a deliberately salacious grin. “So fucking hot.”

The door creaks open.

“Oops. Hope I didn’t interrupt anything. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

I jerk back, and Roxy laughs, covering her face with her hand. “Sorry, we were just . . .”

The short, jowly man chuckles. “I’ve seen it all. Glad to hear you think she’s hot,” the man says to me.

And the social experiment is compromised, since we’re acting like lovers.

“I’m Joey, and I’ll be checking things out under the hood today,” he says with an easy grin.

“Hi, Joey,” Roxy says.

He smiles, then says jovially, “You don’t actually have to wear the gown next time. You can just pull your shirt up.”

“I know.” Roxy smiles impishly. “I was just having fun.”

I crack up at her admission. I love it, too, that she led me on simply to make a joke.

“Fun in hospital gowns. That’s the way to do it. Also, it looks stylish on you.” Joey rubs his palms together. “Now, tell me, Roxy. Are you eager, nervous, or all of the above?”

“All of the above.”

He pats her hand gently. “Let’s get this show on the road and see how your little baby banana is doing.” He glances at me. “The baby’s the size of a banana now.”

“That’s a great fruit to be,” I answer.

“Now, do you want to know the sex of the baby if I’m able to tell?” His eyes drift from Roxy to me and back to Roxy.

This is her show, so I keep my expression stoic, letting her answer, even though I’m curious. I’ve no clue why, but I’ve got that Christmas morning feeling—is it a bike or a new stereo? Both are epic gifts.

Roxy nods excitedly. “I do want to know.”

I give a small, quiet fist pump, and she laughs. “Glad you want to know too,” she says to me.

Oops. Guess I’m not the subtlest plus-one today.

The technician spreads some goop on Roxy’s belly, positions the wand over her bump, and begins the hunt. I hear her inhale deeply, and she blinks nervously. That’s my cue to move closer and take her free hand. Our fingers interlace, and she holds on tightly as Joey travels the wand across her belly.

“It’s going to be okay,” she says quietly, repeating my words as if she’s drilling them into her head.

“Of course it is, sweetheart. Everything is going to be fine.”

Joey clears his throat. “We’ve got some legs right here.” He nods to the screen above the bed, and Roxy snaps her gaze away from me as the image of her baby appears.

“Oh my God,” she whispers, and it sounds like a prayer.

She purses her lips, her eyes locked to the screen, her hand death-gripping mine.

“And we’ve got a nice big old head right here,” Joey says, his affable tone seeming to relax Roxy a touch.

“And a belly, and some fantastically wiggly toes.” He waves at the screen. “This little piggy went to the market.”

Roxy laughs, and Joey continues his travels, showing off the baby’s nose, eyes, and face, as twin tears roll down Roxy’s cheeks.

“The baby looks so perfect,” she whispers, her voice teetering.

“Yeah,” I say softly, squeezing her hand gently, a knot tightening in my throat for God knows what reason. “The baby looks pretty damn perfect.”

“I’m giving this baby a thumbs-up,” Joey says. “You have one very healthy banana in here.”

Roxy blurts out the most relieved sounding thank you in the world.

“Now,” he says, “want to go a-hunting for pink or blue?”

She laughs and nods. “Yes, please.”

He rolls the wand over her bump again, slowing, and then finds the X that marks the spot. A few more slides. Another shift to the right, then left. He stops.

“Here we are,” he says, pointing to the screen.

Roxy peers closer. “What are we—” She cuts herself off, course correcting. “What am I having?”

I don’t have time to linger on the we that became an I because Joey smiles gregariously and announces, “You’re having one very healthy little girl.”

Roxy squeaks, her eyes lighting up like sparklers. “A girl,” she says in wonder.

“A girl,” I repeat, and my goofy grin matches hers.

“And her heartbeat is some kind of drum,” Joey says, and seconds later, thunderous hoofbeats fill the air, the loud and fast thump, thump, thump of the baby’s vital organ.

It’s a glorious sound.

Roxy’s smile is the most joyous thing I’ve ever seen. When she turns to me, I’m overcome with the desire to kiss her. To take her in my arms and tell her the baby’s heartbeat is a beautiful song. That it’s a melody I want to hear again and again.

I don’t say that because this baby is hers, not mine.

But when the technician leaves to find the doctor for the rest of the appointment, and Roxy’s gaze finds mine, something melts inside me. I turn all warm, and I’m even happier. She whispers a shaky but happy, “Hi, there.”

“Hey, you,” I tell her, and I glance down, realizing we’re still holding hands.

“Thanks for coming today.”

“Thanks for letting me tag along.”

“It was better with you here,” she says.

Oh hell.

Just. Fucking. Hell.

I can’t hold back. Maybe I should, but I don’t want to. I lean closer, touch my forehead to hers, and brush a soft kiss to her lips.

She kisses me back, like a summer breeze, barely there, but still warming me all over.

It’s the opposite of our rough and hungry kiss at the reunion. This one is slow and leisurely, a stroll in the fields, a few soft notes on a guitar, and possibility.

So much possibility.

Of something beyond a plus-one, beyond a social experiment as our lips slide together, and my mind turns hazy with a deeper longing.

The snick of the door snaps us apart once more as the nurse enters.

I excuse myself for the rest of the appointment, waiting outside for Roxy. When she emerges, fully dressed, I’m not sure if I should take her hand or tug her into my arms again.

I do neither as we walk down Fifth Avenue.

Because I’m not sure how to act with her anymore.

I’m not sure what we are.

And I don’t have a damn clue what we could be.

Or if we should be.