"No, isn't it still quite flat?"
"Yes, feel it for yourself."
Harry Hunter reached out and touched it. It was indeed a bit rounded. He said nonchalantly, "Maybe it's our son inside, that's why it's rounded."
Isabella Weaver burst into laughter. He really knew how to comfort someone!
Even if she's pregnant, it couldn't be that noticeable now.
She rested her head on Harry Hunter's arm, hugged his waist, felt the mountain breeze, and listened to David and the others laughing a few meters away, thinking she was living an idyllic life.
She kissed Harry Hunter's chin, and asked him quietly, "So, do you prefer a son?"
She thought Harry Hunter would appease her by saying "I like them both," but he replied without hesitation, "I don't like either. Why have kids? They're all troublesome."
"Not at all. I think babies are cute, adorable, and chubby."
Harry Hunter couldn't see anything cute about children. He was born cold-blooded; no cute creature could evoke his affection.
