Back in her room at the Inn, Marin's sitting in bed working when her phone rings; it's Stuart. She asks whether he knows that it's been one day and nine hours since they last spoke. Stuart, slightly taken aback, says he didn't, and Marin crabs that she hates that she knows it -- that she's the kind of woman who'd know it. She says that she can't hang with the agreement they made; she doesn't blame him for anything, but she can't be a guy about this. They mutually agree to dissolve the booty contract they struck, and end the call as amicable professionals: they will still chat, but not all sexy. At least until there needs to be a cliffhanger of some kind.
Let's wrap this up, voice-over-style. "It's impossible to know what makes a man, because no two men are the same, but you can learn a lot when you walk a mile in their shoes. Men can be incredibly strong and soft at the same time." Jane caresses Sam's dewy skin as he lets her drive his boat. "Some...tend to possess something that makes them ready for great responsibility." In front of the fire at the Inn, Annie and Patrick mess around with a "blueprint" of their dream home, a.k.a. Mr. Boddy's house. "Even when that responsibility is someone else's." As Lynn gets ultrasound goo spread on her gut, Jack totally barges right into the exam room; she's very moved to see him, and as he sits next to her, she tells him it's a girl. Jack gazes at the monitor, clasping Lynn's hand. Aw. But the only thing harder than taking responsibility for another man's mistake (gee, Marin, I hope Baby Girl Whatever Lynn's Last Name Is doesn't ever happen to hear this voice-over) is taking responsibility for your own: Buzz enters the Inn and asks Patrick if he's okay, and Patrick says he wanted to thank Buzz for making him feel okay about being a dad, and wanted Buzz to feel okay too. Buzz is all, "What did you do?" Patrick calls up the stairs, "You can come down now," and Orlando Jones comes down, announcing to Buzz, "I'm your son." "Huge," breathes Buzz. I assume he's referring to the space between Orlando's brows and eyes, because seriously? He's so overplucked right now that he could walk out the front door and straight into a revival of Mame.