Zoe pulled the silky top off over her head, her curls falling voluptuously around her shoulders. She let the fabric run through her fingers before placing it carefully in the drawer and looking at herself in the mirror. With just the tips of her fingers she touched the swelling at her waist.

“Hi,” she whispered. “Just thought I should let you know we’re all safe again. In case you were worried.”

“Have you begun talking to yourself now?” Hank asked, standing by the ladder, somewhat wary of coming too far into the room. “Is this just another thing I should expect of a pregnant woman?”

She was about to snap at him, to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling of having been observed being … motherly … but decided instead just to say, “Oddly enough, no.”

“So you’re talking to our son?”

“Mmn.” She glanced down, and his eyes followed to the top of her pants, one of the extenders he’d made holding the front closed.

“Hey, they work,” he said, pleased as all get out.

“Only need the smallest at the moment. But I guess the rest’ll come in handy soon.” She stroked the dark skin of her belly.

Hank felt his breath catch in his chest at the sheer physicality of the woman standing in front of him. “Guess they will,” he said throatily.

“Still have to thank Inara for the clothes.”

“She’d like that. You can wave her. Or wait till we … you know … drop by.” Hank cleared his throat. “You … looked nice.”

She lifted her eyes to gaze at him. “Nice.”

“Well, actually, beautiful. Blooming, even. Glorious. But I thought ‘nice’ might be safer.”

“Safer?”

“After our argument before.”

“Did we argue?”

“Didn’t we?”

“There might have been words,” she conceded.

“I'm sorry.”

“For what? Worrying about me?”

“For getting all … manly about it.”

Her lips twitched. “That what you call it?”

“Don’t, Zo. Don’t make fun of me. Not over this.”

She stared at him, the seriousness in his eyes, then crossed the room, taking his face in her hands and kissing him. His lips part