“Why’s your belly tightening like that?” His voice turns frantic. “Is the baby okay?”

His obvious concern makes it impossible to hold back the laughter I’m fighting. “Baby’s fine.” I offer, trying to regain my wits. “I was trying not to laugh, so you wouldn’t think I was making fun of your skills, but it tickles.”

His posture visibly relaxes. “It’s insane when you tense up like that. I swear I just saw the outline of George’s butt.”

“Oh my God,” I huff. “We are not naming him George!”

“We’ll see,” he challenges.

“Yes, you will.”

We engage in a little stareoff before he gives up and reaches for his supplies.

“Okay, keep still,” he orders, getting back to work.

After drawing the outline, he colors it in using a little sponge, then retrieves a black pencil that looks a hell of a lot like— “Is that my eyeliner?”

He shrugs sheepishly. “That’s what the instructions said to use for detail work. I’ll get you another one.”

I force myself to keep very still while he draws the strings. It’s not too difficult on my stomach, but once he reaches my arm to draw the frets, I swear I’m about to come unglued.

Picture that scene from Dirty Dancing. You know, the one when he’s running his hand down her arm. I’ve never related to anything so strongly.

“You’re ruining the neck of my guitar!” He tries like heck to hold my arm straight and finish the strings, but we’re both in hysterics at this point. “Whatever,” he says, finally tossing the eyeliner pencil to the table. “We’ll have to imagine that this looks anything like a fret board.”

I glance to my left and crack up all over again when I see the end result. It can only be described as a complete disaster.

The paint only takes five minutes to dry, so it’s pretty well set by the time he finishes with his detail work.

“Try not to be ticklish,” he orders while dragging another stool up behind mine for himself.

With the touch of a remote, he dims the lights. Then he stretches my left arm out, holding it in place with his left hand, fingers positioned on the frets.

He sets the little remote on the stool between my legs and with the press of another button soft music fills the room.

My head lolls back onto his shoulder while he hums along to the intro, strumming the chords on my tummy.

Tears spring to my eyes at the sound of his beautiful voice. At the sentiment poured into each of his words.

He sings of meeting a young girl with sunshine in her hair and the oceans in her eyes who forever altered the course of his life. Of loving her beyond reason and the pain of nearly losing her.