Pit Stop: Baby! (Crescent Cove 4)

“You know what I mean. I’m just saying maybe look on the bright side. You’re panicking and overwhelmed, understandably, but Gage is right there with you. Or he should be.”

“He is,” I said quietly.

So far, he’d been more supportive than I could’ve ever asked for. Family or not, we were basically strangers who liked to see each other without our clothes.

“That said, I’m having extreme mommy guilt about leaving my hooker baby when she’s sick.”

It took me a minute to hear what Sage had said, but once I did, a laugh spilled out before I could stop it. I covered my mouth with my hand. “Oh, God, I’m really sorry. Please forgive me?”

She grinned and popped a fry in her mouth. “Don’t worry about it. But I’m about to ask you for a favor.”

“Sure. I basically owe you anything you could possibly ask for.”

“Would you help Kel and Ally go through the store and find stuff for the registry? I hate to bail, but I really need to be home. And not even because Oliver can’t manage to take care of the baby, because he’s frighteningly competent at most things. I just miss her. I want to be the one who cares for her. With him.” Sage’s cheeks bloomed pink and I ducked my head, more embarrassed than if she’d started talking about her sex life.

Seeing someone so in love with her kid and her husband was even more intimate.

And I wanted that. I wanted to be the woman who couldn’t wait to get home to my child and my guy, even if they were puking.

Well, the kid. I’d probably rather not deal with a sick man, ever, since they were worse than any infant. When my dad was sick, my mom usually wanted to hide in the basement with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s.

Or a jug of wine.

“Go ahead. I’ll do registry detail. Sister bonding activity and all that. Besides, we’re all moms here. We get it.”

Holy crap. I was a mom.

Or almost a mom, though probably being an incubator counted.

“Thanks. You’re the best. Though you may get a call from my husband when I slip and refer to Star as the hooker baby.” She grinned and waved, grabbing our tray—with my half-eaten French fries, but whatever—on her way out.

I saw her chatting with and then hugging Ally and Kel inside the store before she split. Not ten minutes later, a sleek black sports car showed up at the curb and she slipped inside. I looked away, but looked back again when the car lingered. They were clearly engaged in a marathon kiss. Which was a positive

sign that romance didn’t die after childbirth.

Then again, I hadn’t had any romance yet. So, what was I worried about?

I chewed on my straw.

Everything.

I was worried about everything.

When I rejoined Ally and Kel, they’d filled the cart with all kinds of baby goodness. Scary stuff like industrial containers of wipes—for industrial amounts of poop—and truly small onesies. I wanted to go back to check out the books again, but I didn’t want to return to the scene of the crime quite so soon. Besides, it was time to pick out the stuff Kel wanted her guests to get her as presents for the shower.

Dutifully, I scanned the items she wanted, listening to endless debates about the merits of certain car seats and swings and baby bathtubs. That one vexed me. I mean, why couldn’t the kid be washed in a regular tub?

“It’s too large. The baby needs to feel secure.”

I stared at Kel. “I don’t think Mom washed me in any special bathtub.”

“Yes, and see how you turned out?”

I didn’t have an argument for that one. But I also wasn’t putting any fancy schmancy plastic deal on my registry either.

If I needed one.

If anyone even bothered to give me a shower.