Southern Gentleman (Charleston Heat 3)

Yeah, we can kiss those goodbye.

The baby does another backflip. I try my best to breathe deeply, the way Katie taught us in yoga class.

“Hey.” I almost start when I feel a hand move down my leg. “Hey, Jules, you all right?”

Blinking, I turn to see Grey looking up at me from his pillow, brow furrowed.

I take his hand and move it to my belly.

“Baby’s moving.”

His eyes go wide. He bolts upright, the covers falling from the broad expanse of his chest.

“You can’t feel it from the outside,” I say, even though I keep his hand on my stomach. “But she’s definitely moving around in there.”

“Does it hurt? The way you were breathing—”

“Nah. Feels like bubbles. I’m just having a teeny tiny panic attack over the fact that we’re having a baby, and that she’s coming so soon.”

Grey nods his head, pressing his hand a bit more firmly against me.

“That’s fair. It’s terrifying, isn’t it? The permanence of it. The idea that we’re going to be responsible for keeping her alive.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“But.” Grey leans in and grazes his lips across my bare shoulder. “It’s also really, really exciting. What is her laugh going to sound like? Will she have hair, or will she be a sweet little bald peanut? Most importantly, is she going to be smart and beautiful like her mother—”

“Or growly and demanding like her father?”

He grins. “Let’s hope she takes after you.”

I manage a tight smile. “You don’t get the excitement without the terror, I guess.”

“Parenthood in a nutshell?”

My smile grows. Of course he’d get me back to smiling.

“Whatever the case, I’m grateful I get to do it with you,” I reply.

Grey nods, his mouth moving to my chest.

“Show me how grateful, exactly.”Chapter Twenty-NineJuliaAfter slogging through my first trimester, I feel like I’m riding a high in my second.

Not only am I back to feeling like myself, both mentally and physically, I’ve also made some new mom-to-be friends through the yoga classes I’ve been taking. Hallie, Fiona and I meet once a week for coffee. We commiserate—swollen ankles, shitty sleep—and chat about babies and breast feeding and normal, non-pregnancy related stuff, too. Stressful jobs and sick parents and not-so-secret dreams that don’t disappear when you become a mother.

Neither does your desire to connect with the world. Other people. New ideas. I always leave our coffee dates feeling energized and at ease. Like everything is going to be okay.

I’m back to feeling like myself at work, too. I begin the spring semester on a high note, with the English department head approving a “Romance Summit” Olivia and I are planning for spring of next year. We’re inviting authors, agents, publishers, and other academics to campus for a weekend of all things romance related. It’s part of our ongoing effort to get the genre the recognition it deserves.

I’m also in love. Head over heels in love with Grey. I spent the holidays with his family, which was wonderful. He’s been pretty great himself. A little distracted, yes. But he makes a real effort to ensure that I’m comfortable and looked after. He’s thoughtful. He makes me come at least once a day.

He’s trying to find a balance between life and work.

And I am content with that. The trying. It’s enough.

Until it isn’t.

Olivia, Gracie and I arrive at Hello Baby right on time on a sunny Saturday morning. We wait for Grey to show. And wait some more.

“You sure you gave him the right date?” Olivia asks, glancing at my phone.

I’ve sent Grey three texts and called him twice. No answer.

“I’m sure. I reminded him this morning,” I say. I run through our conversations in my head, just to be certain. “He’s late sometimes, but never this late. I’m really sorry.”

My annoyance, simmering up until now, flares to full blown anger. Why am I the one apologizing for Grey’s fuck up? It’s not my fault he forgot. Or was too busy at work to make it.

Makes me wonder if he ever did that research or read any books yet. He’s on his laptop in bed pretty much every night. I’d hoped—maybe stupidly—he was doing the research and reading then.

I’m twenty-one weeks. While we still have time, we definitely need to start thinking about things like what car seat we’ll bring Charlie Brown home in, and where she’ll sleep as a newborn and beyond. I don’t want to be unprepared or feel rushed. I imagine having a new baby will be stressful enough. Adding disorganization to the mix feels like a recipe for disaster.

I’ve done my research. I’ve consulted half a dozen books on the stuff we’ll need, and I’ve copied a bunch of ideas from my fellow mamas-to-be’s registries. Case in point: I carry a literal folder of information with me into the store.

Gracie glances at her watch. “Well. Why don’t we get started? Greyson can give us his thoughts when he gets here.”