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Almost as soon as she said it, a gush of water hit the floor between her legs, and the situation changed all at once.

Christian—usually soft and gooey with his wife—turned into her rock immediately. Her eyes were terrified when she looked at him, but he smiled with his whole face. He tucked her hair behind her ear, leaving his hand on her neck, and put the other one on her belly.

“Our baby’s comin’, Mamacita. We’re ready for him. You done a good job makin’ him and you’ll do a good job gettin’ him out, and then you’re gonna put your feet up for a while and let me do some of the work.”

“You can’t drive, you’ve been drinking, Christian,” her voice broke on a sob.

“Hawkins is already in the van, baby girl. Got it warm and waiting for us.” Was that what he was doing? That eye communication between Will and Christian was next-level.

I noticed Marisol hesitating with her eyes on the mess on the floor.

“Mari, you can walk out that door, and I will clean it up. Or I can walk you out, and Christian can do it. Your choice,” I said. Viv taught me that trick.

“Will you come with me to the hospital? My mom and my sister were supposed to be here,” she was crying now, “but they’re at Berto’s parents’ this weekend⁠—‘’

“No duh, I am coming,” I said, putting my arm around her back at her waist. Christian nodded, and Maeve tossed him a towel. “Did you think I’d miss the opportunity to see your vag in action?”

I timed Marisol’s contractions on the way there, and they were roughly five minutes apart. I didn’t really know what that meant, but it seemed like something I was supposed to do, and Christian appreciated the information. Will was quietly in control in the driver’s seat of their van, a backpack I recognized as his at my feet.

“You pack a bag to sleep at the hospital?” I joked.

He spoke low and quiet, “It’s first aid stuff. Clean towels. Just in case,” he looked at me sideways, slightly embarrassed, “I wasn’t sure how the roads would be in the snow…"

“Jesus. I hope you’re around when I go into labor,” I said before I realized what had come out of my mouth. What?

Will didn’t seem to notice my alarm. “Same,” was all he said, eyes on the road and green light glowing on his face as he turned left in the intersection. I resisted the urge to clarify. It wasn’t important, or maybe it just didn’t feel right with our friend in labor two feet away. Maybe The Note was a copy of Marisol’s birth plan.

We pulled up to the emergency drop-off, and I jumped out to open the door for Christian and Marisol, but Will beat me to it with the automatic doors. The Dad on this guy! He grabbed their go-bag from the trunk and slung the strap over Christian’s shoulder. His back was to me when he pulled Ortiz’s bald head to his shoulder and kissed him right on top. He murmured something in his ear before slapping his back and saying aloud, “I’ll park, and we’ll meet you up there in case Marisol wants Louisa in the room.” I heard his voice catch when he said, “Mari, you got this, babe. I love you.”

Gah! My hormones must have been hijacked by being woman-in-labor adjacent because I felt like my ovaries were twirling. Then he turned around… and I burst out laughing.

Will’s profile had been dark in the car, but now, under the exterior lights, I saw his full face of makeup. Brows on point, shadow popping, lashes voluminous, highlighter down his nose. Maybe he’s born with it. Maybe it’s Siobhan.

His eyes were twinkling, and not just from the eyeshadow. “I’m telling Shiv you hated her makeup.”

“I never said that! No!” I had my hand over my mouth to muffle my laughter when he opened the passenger side door and pushed me in. I snorted when I looked at his face again, “You’re just so beautiful, like an angel.”

“Mmmm, I’m your Leanan Sídhe,” he suggested, shifting the van into drive.

“Yeah, whatever that is. Sounds hot.” I made a mental note to look it up later.

We were quiet as he parked and I dug for baby wipes in the diaper bag behind the driver’s seat, the engine ticking as it cooled.

A single streetlight hung over the parking lot, its glow pouring through the windshield and turning everything the color of honey.

Including Will’s pretty face.

“Close your eyes,” I said, letting the wipe warm up in my hand first. He looked in my eyes for a long moment before doing as I said. I took my time so I could observe the planes of his face, the little freckle under his right eye. Leaning closer over the console, I brushed the soft cloth gently over his eyebrows and lids and watched the muscle in his jaw move as I wiped down his nose and across his cheekbones.

I felt how aware he was of me—the air between us felt charged, humming low and steady. My breathing was quicker than it needed to be. I was closer than I needed to be. More thorough than I needed to be. But he stayed still for me.

“Hold still,” I said anyway.

He opened his eyes, brows lifting a fraction. “I am.”

I lingered a second too long then, my thumb resting against his jaw after the wipe had already done its job. Neither of us moved. His gaze flicked to my mouth and back again, quick, like he hadn’t meant to.

I pulled my hand away before the moment tipped into something else, folding the wipe back into my fist.