Blaire flipped to another page showing a picture of Carrie that was marked nine months old. She was cheesing for the camera, four tiny teeth exposed in her grin. Her dimples were on full display, and her blue eyes were sparkling with mischief. It was the cutest thing I had ever seen in my life. I grabbed my phone off the coffee table and snapped a pic of the photo. I did the same with the most recent picture of her, one taken at her fourth birthday party. There was a big purple cake, and Carrie was puffing her cheeks to blow out the candles. Blaire was right beside her, looking at our daughter like she was the world’s greatest treasure.

“I’m sending these to my brother,” I said, tapping send, and my phone pinged with an instant reply.

Ollie: This is Carrie?

Axel: Yep at nine months and at four years. Told you she was perfect.

Ollie: She is gorgeous, man. Congrats. I want to meet her soon.

Axel: Ok.

Ollie: Blaire still looks hot AF.

Axel: STFU asshole.

I heard Blaire laugh as she read the messages. “Tell Oliver I said hello.”

Axel: She says hello.

Ollie: Tell her I’m sorry she got stuck with the poor, wimpy, ugly brother.

Axel: She said fuck you.

Ollie: No she didn’t. Blaire loves me. DON’T YOU BLAIRE?

Axel: She can’t read this right now. She’s giving me amazing head.

Ollie: No fucking way.

Axel: Oh God. She’s deep throating me, bro. Fuck yes!

Ollie: I hate you right now.

Axel: Oh shit, man. I’m coming. Yes! Yes! Yes!

Ollie: Bye, prick.

“You are twisted,” Blaire said as I tossed my phone on the coffee table with a chuckle. She rolled over and rested her chin on my chest. “We’re both off tomorrow.”

I smiled and said, “Yep,” hoping this meant she wanted to spend the day with me.

“I wondered if maybe… if you wanted to talk to Carrie with me. About you being her father?”

My heart soared up into my throat, rendering me unable to speak, so I nodded and leaned down to press my lips to her pretty mouth. “Yes,” I was finally able to say. “I want that more than anything.”

I was putting the baby book on the coffee table when several photos fell out of the back and drifted to the rug. I bent to pick them up, and Blaire said, “Oh, God. Please don’t look at those.” She sat up and tried to grab them from me, but I was too fast.

It was a series of pictures showing Blaire in various stages of pregnancy, from a tiny baby bump to quite a large belly. Fuck, why did that turn me on so much?

Blaire knelt on the couch, banging her head against the cushion on the back. “I can’t believe you’re looking at those. I looked like a cow.”