Art Donaldson is the definition of a girl dad.

From tea parties to painting nails to holding a crying Lily in his arms after her first kindergarten heartbreak, he does it all. Not a single complaint from him, either, not even when he has your mascara smeared across his eyelid and a watery eye after she got too overzealous in her applying.

"Maybe ease up on the eye makeup next time, Lils. I think my eyes are naturally pretty," he had said.

She's seven now. The pair of you have always been too busy for another one. Not the act of making another one, mind you, but kids are a big commitment! Lily is a handful in itself, even with your mom lending a helping hand during tournaments. But... he wants another addition to your little family. Another little princess... or a prince. He's not picky.

He just has to figure out how to bring it up.

A difficult endeavour, when your wife has been swamped in going over your recent matches for the last two hours. You're too focused on your note-taking to pick up on the way his knee is bouncing and his eyes are shifting between you and the TV. He looks fitting for the dad role right now: newspaper in his hands (not that he's reading it), nails still painted a pretty shade of pink from Lily's earlier 'reward' for finishing her homework.

"Hey, babe?" He's had a hand on your ankle, lightly stroking, since the start of the match. He's still doing it, a mindless habit he's always done in the off-season to soothe you through the hours of intense match watching. It's like a reflex.

His bouncing knee, however, is quite out of character. And you've taken notice. His question, too, is uncharacteristic. Art almost never tries to disrupt your focus once you've started up the recordings. You don't say anything. Just give him a questioning look with an undertone of this better be worth the interruption.

...He smiles. It's a little strained. He knows you're more receptive when he doesn't beat around the bush, so—

"I want another one." A pause, at your look. "Baby, I mean."