Page 109 of Pregnant By the Playboy

Yeah, Carrie is one of those people who usually stay south of Bloor.

She waves at me, and then it’s just me and Vince again.

Well, the two of us and everyone else in the waiting room.

“It’s time for your ultrasound,” the receptionist says to me. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” I say, “I’m ready.”

* * *

Everything is fine with Baby, as far as the ultrasound technician can tell, but she’ll send the results to my doctor. She asks if we want to know if it’s a boy or a girl, and we nod.

“It’s a boy,” she says.

“Oh!” If anything, I had imagined Baby being a girl, but I don’t care.

Vince takes my hand and squeezes.

We’re having a boy together!

After the ultrasound, we go to my condo, where I pick up a few things for the weekend, then get back in Vince’s car so we can head down to his place.

“Actually,” he says as he fastens his seatbelt, “let’s make a detour first.”

To my surprise, we drive north.

“Is this a fancy new cheesecake place?” I ask.

“It has nothing to do with food. Shocking, I know.”

We turn onto a residential street, and he puts the car in park.

“See that house?” He points across the street.

It’s a new-ish stone house. Though many of the homes on the street are older brick houses, this one looks like it was built in the past decade, and it’s a little bigger, but not too big. We’re maybe a five- or ten-minute walk from Yonge and Lawrence.

I have a sneaking suspicion...

“You want to buy it?” I ask, noting the sign in front of the house.

“I did buy it.”

Right. I see now that the sign says “sold.”

“I would have asked you to look at it with me,” he says, “but you’d just...you know. Plus I had to act fast. I thought I could give it to you, if you were willing to accept it, or I’d live in it myself. But now, I’m hoping—”

“Yes.” I throw my arms around him. “Yes. It looks perfect, and it’s not too far from the office or your family. Or too long of a drive from my mom’s.”

“That was the point.”

Of course it was. Of course he was thinking of that.

“I get to decorate it,” I say. “Your penthouse is nice and all, but I don’t want our house to look like a swanky bachelor pad.”

“I don’t want that, either.”

I cup his cheeks, and as I kiss him, I remember the first kiss we shared all those months ago, before he even knew my name. When I met him at that party, I never would have imagined that several months later, we would find ourselves here.