Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
He tips his head from side to side, mulling this over before he agrees. “All right. So we’re friends?”
“Sure. Friends. For the next little while at least.”
His hand reaches out for mine so we can shake on this new agreement, and I can’t believe where this conversation has taken us. I thought I’d shock the daylights out of him with this pregnancy scare, but it’s been the exact opposite. It’s like he’s as excited about it as I am.
He looks me over, concentrating hard all of a sudden. “Now correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you supposed to be taking pregnancy vitamins or something?”
CHAPTER 16
By “pregnancy vitamins”, Sawyer means prenatal vitamins, and by Tuesday morning a variety of them have been delivered to the Wildflower Weddings offices. I have them in gummy form as well as pill form, ones that promise to taste like strawberries and ones that swear they’ll make a baby as smart as Einstein* (*results may vary).
Sawyer has clearly been busy, and he hasn’t limited himself to just the prenatal vitamins. I’m also the proud owner of fish oil pills, protein bars, and cookies that promise to combat morning sickness. I also have a new fancy water bottle, heating pad, and compression socks, which Marge has slipped on over her stockings.
“Now these are real nice.” She admires them as she wiggles her toes. “Much better than the kind I get at CVS. He didn’t skimp on these, honey.”
I’ve barely broken down the boxes from the previous delivery when another UPS delivery woman knocks on our door carrying a package the size of my whole body.
“How is he getting these things delivered so fast?!” is my first thought, but not Marge’s.
“Jesus, what’s in there?! A refrigerator?” she exclaims.
“Course not,” Queenie remarks. “She wouldn’t be able to carry it over her shoulder like that if it were. Thanks, sugar. Where should I sign?”
I accept the package and thank the woman, peeking out onto the sidewalk because I’m worried there might be a parade of delivery people coming in her wake, while Marge gets a pair of scissors so she can slice through the tape. Once I pass the huge box over to her, she opens it and withdraws a large stuffed white…cloud?
“What the hell is this?” Marge asks, draping it over her shoulders like it’s a pet anaconda.
“A pregnancy pillow!” Queenie replies, eating another one of my morning sickness cookies. “Had ’em with both kids and loved them. Here, let me test it out. Oh, that’s nice. This material is heaven.”
“Let me try,” Marge insists.
“If your father had doted on me like this, Madison, I’d have had twenty kids.”
Marge nods in agreement. “I for one hope you have twins.”
“TWINS?!” I exclaim.
“Yes. I’m not picky, but I would like a little girl that looks like you and a boy that looks like Sawyer.”
Queenie and Marge spend the next fifteen minutes daydreaming about this exact scenario, never mind what I think about it. I’ve tried to ensure things at the office continue on as normal today despite the around-the-clock deliveries. While Marge and Queenie look up baby names, I confirm we’re up to date on invoices, and while Queenie and Marge are at lunch, I clear another corner of the office and haul as much stuff out to the dumpster as I can manage. The two of them are total pack rats, and if I try to get rid of anything while they’re around, they both pitch a fit. “Now see, don’t go getting rid of that stained tablecloth sample! We might need it!”
Marge saw a 1987 issue of Bride with half its pages ripped out sitting in the trash can and scolded me for fifteen minutes. I’ve learned my lesson. Trash gets taken out under the cloak of darkness or while Marge and Queenie are socializing on their lunch break.
I make sure there’s a tight seal on the trash can—just in case—then come back through the back door of the shop to find Sawyer standing near the front entrance, looking a little confused until he sees me.
“I wasn’t sure I was in the right office,” he admits, his eyes taking in the airplanes dangling from the ceiling. “What is this place?”
“It’s a disaster is what it is.” I prop my hands on my hips. “Old travel agency turned…dump. I’ve been cleaning it out for over a week now. Can you tell?”
He winces, like he feels bad admitting, “Not really.”
I sigh with defeat. “Yeah. Same here. I suspect the piles of junk are multiplying when I’m not looking. A sort of voodoo magic Luellen cursed the building with before she retired.”
He smiles and holds up the paper bags in his hands. “Brought you a late lunch.”
Good thing Queenie and Marge aren’t here to see this. They’d turn to goop over the fact that Sawyer is trying to take such good care of me.