Entering the living room, I see Ayawamat sitting on the sofa, staring intently at his laptop screen, his face morphing from disapproval to adoration and back like the flipping of a switch.
I walk over to him. “What are you looking at?” I ask curiously.
He looks up, his expression turning unusually bashful. “I…um…”
I sit down and clasp my hands on top of my belly. “Well, it’s not porn. You wouldn’t look so shy if it were,” I tease.
He chortles, the sound lifting my spirits and putting a bit more life back into his eyes.
“It’s not porn. I…was looking at baby things,” he reveals, turning the laptop so that I can see.
My eyebrows almost disappear into my hairline as I take in the webpage displaying rows and rows of adorable baby clothes. I’d been so focused on whether or not the baby and
