Pit Stop: Baby! (Crescent Cove 4)

What to Expect When You’re Expecting.

There was even a sign for it, right in the middle of a rack of many other frightening baby books.

That would be my savior. An easy, step by step guide that hopefully didn’t have too much scary terminology.

Some people were frightened of clowns or horror movies. Not me. I could watch just about anything with Macy without even hiding my eyes.

But sweet mercy, I still hadn’t recovered from hearing about something called a “mucus plug” from my cheerfully informative sister. Somehow she’d developed a feeling of Zen toward the birthing process.

I had not reached that place yet.

I might not ever get there, especially if I couldn’t find this fucking book.

“Where is it?” Sweat blurred into my eyes as I dug through the other books, tossing them to and fro, desperate to find one copy. I needed the latest version, in case there were new discoveries or something.

I wasn’t going to start my parenting adventure with an outdated copy. Maybe one before they even knew mucus plugs existed.

On the other hand, perhaps that wouldn’t be so bad.

“There has to be one left. Just one.” I spun around and came face to face with Kelsey. Or face to breasts, because my sister was taller than me and her boobs were fairly ginormous right now.

“What’s wrong with you? You’re all sweaty and pale.” She held a hand to my forehead. “You feel hot. Oh jeez, I hope you don’t have that same virus little Star does.”

“Star sounds like a hooker’s name,” I snapped, backing up to get some air.

And bumped right into the little swiveling rack of books. They all went flying, and look at that, there was my book.

I dove on it like a seagull swarming toward the last French fry, clutching it to my chest and throwing out a hand to ward off the approaching blue-clad Baby Rama worker. I knew she worked there because they had these dopey little hats that looked like beanies with propellers.

If it was supposed to be cute, it failed. Miserably.

“Mine,” I enunciated carefully, fully ready to do battle if she tried to pry it out of my hands.

I didn’t know why she would, just that I’d caused a scene and made a mess and oh yeah, called Sage’s baby a hooker. At least I had to assume that was why the normally friendly blond was staring at me with a murderous expression.

Oops.

“I didn’t mean she was a hooker, or even would be one, because she’s a baby. Just that her name is very—well, sexualized. Or it could be, if you watch too many movies.” I crossed my arms over my chest and swallowed a whimper as she came toward me. I wasn’t a street fighter, and this woman clearly had the rage advantage. “Personally, I love the name.”

Before she reached me, I booked down the aisle, hopping over the couple of books that had somehow been flung farther than the others. I needed to clean up my disaster, but first, I needed to flee. I had a child to protect.

Good story, Ry.

Two aisles over, my sister caught up with me. She was huffing and puffing, which made me feel momentarily guilty until she spoke.

“You need to apologize to Sage.”

I winced. “Didn’t I already do that?” Kinda.

“That was very mean what you said.”

“I didn’t mean to lash out at her. I’m just a little freaked out right now. Look at this place.” I waved my hand at the rows of car seats and strollers and a million different contraptions I didn’t even have a clue what to do with. “It’s crazy. How can a newborn need this many things? How do people not go into the poorhouse? Oh, I know, land yourself a richy rich Hamilton—”

Kelsey’s hand covered my mouth. Probably wisely. “You have insulted my friends enough for one day. And besides, a little hypocritical, aren’t you? Gage isn’t exactly a pauper.”

She dropped her hand and I tipped back my head to take a deep breath. “You’re right. I’m going crazy.”

At least I didn’t immediately launch into all the reasons Gage’s wealth had nothing to do with me providing for my child. I was progressing.