Page 61 of Blueline Baby

“Tonight.” He’s already grabbing my winter coat off the back of my chair. “Right now.”

I turn around to look at Lorelei, who’s taken my side against this man on every logistical question since October.

“Come with us?” I say, wanting backup.

She just smiles and Dean shakes his head. “You’re going to want to go alone tonight,” he says, taking Lorelei’s arm to lead her out of the suite.

Jack cranks up the heat in the truck as soon as we get in. But instead of heading toward the quiet Italian place that’s become our favorite, he turns the opposite way out of the stadium parking lot.

“Where are we going?”

“I’ve gotta stop at a buddy’s house and pick something up.”

“Which buddy?”

“You don’t know him.”

“I know all of them. I know all of their wives, and I know the names of all of their kids.” He doesn’t say anything. “Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen. If you don’t tell me where we’re going right now, I’m going to take the doctor’s envelope out of my purse, rip it open, and tell you whether this baby is a boy or a girl.”

His head snaps around. “You would not.”

“I will, I swear.”

“You’ve been agonizing over whether we should open it or save it for a week!”

“And I will burn all of that careful deliberation to the ground to win this argument.” I fold my hands on top of my stomach. “Try me.”

He drives in silence for about half a block. Then he blows out a long, defeated breath. “Fine. We’re not going to a restaurant.”

“Then where are we going?”

“Chloe.” He glances over at me, and there’s something almost pleading in his expression. “Please. Just let it be a surprise. One time. Please just let this one thing be a surprise.”

Which isn’t fair at all, because that serious, earnest face works on me, and he knows it.

“Fine,” I say. “I’ll let it be a surprise. On one condition. You agree, out loud, right now, that Russell is a terrible name and we are never using it.”

He grips the leather steering wheel. “Ugh. Fine. I drop Russell.”

“Say the whole thing.”

“Russell is a dumb name and we’re never using it.” He shakes his head, turning back to the road. “You drive a hard bargain, Backcheck Girl.”

He pulls the truck into private townhome complex I’ve driven past a hundred times on my way to campus.

“Jack, what is this?”

“Be surprised. You promised.”

He comes around, opens my door, takes my hand, and walks me up a short brick path. He doesn’t say a word the entire way, but his hand is sweating in mine as we stop in front of a door and he pulls a key out of his pocket.

“Okay,” he says. “So.”

And then he pushes the door open.

There are hundreds of dark red rose petals scattered across the floor.

“What is happening right now?” I ask, frozen in the entryway.