The pride in his tone was so sweet that I wanted to jump down from the table, hug him, and apologize. But the doctor started in with questions about how I was feeling, and the moment passed.
“All right, let’s have a listen for the baby’s heartbeat,” he said.
My hand instinctively went to my belly. “Really?”
“Really. Just lie back and slide your shirt up a bit.”
Bennett came to stand next to me, and I looked up at his face as the doctor rubbed my belly with a Doppler wand. He was so handsome, his expression earnest and hopeful.
A steady swooshing sound made me turn to Dr. Lansing.
“Is that it?” I whispered.
“Yes. And it sounds good.”
Warm happiness flooded me. It hadn’t felt as real as it did in this moment, hearing the sound of my growing baby’s heart. When I turned to Bennett, his eyes were glistening with a layer of unshed tears.
I reached for his hand and took it. “Bennett, I’m sorry about the other day.”
He squeezed my hand and bent down so our faces were close. “Thanks for the non-apology.” When he grinned, my heart fluttered and I couldn’t help smiling back.
“Okay. Take two,” I said. “I’m sorry for being bitchy the other day. I was having a really bad day, but I was wrong to take it out on you.”
“It’s okay. I’m sorry about the way I acted at dinner that night.”
“That’s our baby,” I said, still listening to the rhythmic pounding.
He cupped my cheek with his free hand. “That’s our baby,” he said softly.
“I’m excited.”
“Me too.”
The doctor withdrew the wand, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. All I could see right now was Bennett, his gaze intense as his thumb stroked over my cheekbone.
“Can I touch?” he asked, nearly whispering.
“Yes.”
He slid his large palm from my cheek and put it on my belly, his expression lighting up with happiness. I felt an immediate, deep connection with him. He had the same innate love for this baby as I did. And no one else in the world would ever feel this connection to a child who wasn’t even fully formed yet.
“Let’s have dinner,” I said.
His eyes met mine and he smiled. I kept my hold on his hand, not wanting to let go and lose this feeling.
“Smells better than a virgin’s cooter in here,” James said, inhaling dramatically.
“Eww. I thought you had to leave,” I said, stirring the chicken fajita mix I’d made.
“I’m supposed to meet my date at six, but I want to be fashionably late.”
“That’s not fashionable. It’s rude.”
“Chicks dig assholes, Charlotte.” James moved his hand toward the skillet on the stove and I smacked it away.
“You should get going,” I said, wishing he’d take a hint.
I’d decided to make amends with Bennett not just by having dinner with him, but by cooking it. And nothing would kill a good evening faster than my roommate.