He knew what it felt like to be a boy. She didn’t. He’d have definite input she wouldn’t have. They could talk about Winston taking their son fishing—something Winston and his dad had done together, and something Emily hated. And ball games. He liked them. She, not so much.
Maybe their little guy wouldn’t like any of that, either. But Winston could take him. And see.
Little guy.
She was home before he was, had homemade stroganoff ready to serve by the time he walked in the door.
In gym shorts and a sweatshirt. Sweaty. A mess.
And such a hot hunk she got all warm and mushy down below.
“I need to shower,” he said, barely looking at her as he walked through the kitchen.
She didn’t care. Was grinning so big her face muscles cramped. He’d come home in personal clothes. Not his uniform.
The change came about the day he’d found out he was having a son. It could be a coincidence. She didn’t think so. The universe was looking out for them. She only had to trust.
* * *
Still jittery with excitement, Emily set the table, filled plates and sat down across from Winston.
“Have you thought of any names?” she asked as she took her first bite of noodles, starving more than usual that night.
She’d already put on a couple of pounds. If she wasn’t careful she was going to become an elephant. A happy one, but still...she had to be healthy if she hoped to keep up with the two guys in her family in years to come.
“Names?” He glanced at her, frowning.
She chose to focus on the jeans and T-shirt he’d donned. A shirt from a vacation they’d taken in Italy several years before. They’d had sex in the Jacuzzi in their suite—the first time they’d done it in the water.
“For the baby,” she told him. She’d been playing with ideas all afternoon. Was eager to discuss them with him.
“No.” He was tending to his dinner like he hadn’t eaten in weeks.
The stroganoff was extra good that night. She’d outdone herself. “I was thinking about Winston James, for you and my dad,” she told him. “But if you’d rather have Winston Dane the Second, I’m great with that, too.”
He continued to eat.
“What do you think?” she pushed him. Remembering their dinner out on what would always be the night of the heartbeat to her. The night she’d finally understood more of what Winston needed from her. The night she’d been so close to giving up hope and had gained it afresh instead.
“I don’t have any thoughts on the matter. Except...”
Getting a little more used to his acerbic ways of dropping his desires into their conversations, she grabbed that “except” like a lifeline. “What?”
“I don’t think he should bear my name.”
Wow. That was a surprise. He’d always talked about having a little namesake. One for him and one for her. Their other two children would be named for their favorite constellations and mythical characters. Of course, they’d been fifteen when they’d made those decisions, too.
And maybe he was right. Two men in the same home with the same name could become confusing. There’d be the issue of needing a nickname for the baby, something he’d have to be called to distinguish him from his father, meaning he’d never be able to go by his real name.
“What would you like?” she asked.
He shrugged, helped himself to another spoonful of stroganoff. “Anything but Winston,” he told her.
Not much for her to go on. But she’d wanted his input. He’d told her what mattered to him.
And what mattered to her was that he was there. And he cared.
Chapter Seventeen