The silence is thick, and my gaze drifts to the wall in front of us.
“What the hell is that supposed to be?”
She glances up. “What?”
“That photo on the wall.”
Magnolia leans up a little, squinting. The frame holds a close-up of a pink orchid, petals soft and veined and… suggestive.
“Oh,” she says, trying and failing to hide a grin. “That flower looks like a vagina.”
I chuckle. “A very artistic one. I’m afraid William Bloom missed his calling.”
She laughs, tipping her head toward my shoulder. “Do you think they chose that on purpose? Like, subtle labia-themed ambience?”
“Maybe it’s subliminal. Comfort through floral innuendo.”
“Calming vaginal art. A timeless classic.”
I squint at it, deadpan. “That flower is staring into my soul.”
Magnolia laughs. “That flower is judging your pull-out game.”
I smirk. “That irresistible flower is the reason we’re here.”
Magnolia grins. “Well, that flower wasn’t too worried about being pollinated. Can’t really blame her—the bee was irresistible.”
I glance at another frame—this one showing a very intense cross-section of a pregnant woman, her insides on full display in medical-grade detail. I point with a grimace. “That one, though? It’s too much. I did not need a visual on where the placenta goes this early in the morning.”
Magnolia squeezes my hand, still grinning. “Welcome to obstetrics, babe.”
“And here I thought rugby was graphic.”
She laughs again, and I swear the sound settles something in my chest. She’s not trying to be brave—she just is.
I lean over and kiss her temple. “You ready to see our kid?”
“Our kid.” She blows a slow breath through pursed lips. “I am. But it’s still so weird hearing you say that.”
The door opens, and a cheerful woman in scrubs steps inside. “Good morning, I’m Cass, and I’ll be your ultrasound tech. I hear we’ve got a little someone making their debut today?”
Magnolia smiles, nervous but trying to look unruffled. “Guess we do.”
She closes the door behind her and moves with practiced ease—but pauses when her eyes settle on me. Recognition flashes, followed by a careful smile. “You’re Alex Sebring.”
I nod once, unsure if we’re about to be asked for a selfie.
“It’s an honor to be the one showing you your first glimpse of your baby.”
Magnolia smiles and squeezes my hand. “This is it.”
“Let’s look at Baby Sebring, shall we?” The tech wheels over the ultrasound machine and sets it up beside the bed. “Mind if I lower your waistband?”
“Oh, sure,” Magnolia says, lifting her hips.
She grabs a bottle from the side tray. “The jelly everyone loves to hate,” she says, giving it a shake before squirting the gel onto Magnolia’s stomach. “Sorry. It’s always cold.”
Magnolia flinches and lets out a soft yelp. “You weren’t kidding.”
