Page 103 of Nanny for the SEAL

“Black. It’s what I always get. Why mess with a good thing?” She smirks. “You?”

“Well, considering it’s going to be the holidays soon, I was thinking red. Maybe a sparkly white one, like snow?”

“Cute!” She nods, the corners of her mouth turning down. “You’ll be all Suzie Santa for Xaden.”

I pat my belly. “And soon, I’ll be looking like Mr. Claus himself, too.”

We laugh, and the nail session goes by in a flurry of conversation and jokes. We finish up, our nails looking sparkly and new, and Sam takes me to a baby clothing store not far from the salon.

It’s so close, in fact, that we can walk. And I’ll admit that even though it’s a bit chilly outside the fresh air and movement feel good.

Plus, it gets that acrylic smell out of my nose.

As we step inside the store, the bell above us jingles happily. I am immediately overwhelmed by the sheer volume of baby items scattered about on the shelves.

“Hi, welcome in!” A woman calls out from the counter as she circles around it and comes to greet us. “What are we looking for today?”

“My friend here is expecting, and she hasn’t bought a single onesie. Can you believe that?”

I flush, a bit embarrassed, but I still manage to chuckle at the entire situation.

“Well, that won’t do. Let’s find you something.”

The woman is warm and gives off those “I’ve been there and done that vibes.” I appreciate that instead of just going for the sale, she steers me away from a few things that aren’t practical once she explains them.

“No, honey. It’s cute, so maybe a few. But you’ll want the majority of the pajamas to have feet—socks don’t stay on—and a zipper. The snaps are just too much to deal with when the kiddo has had a blowout.”

I raise my brows. “I’m sorry, a what?”

Sam laughs. “I thought you said you worked with kids?”

Making a face a her, I shrug with just my hand. “I do, but they’re usually potty trained by the time I get to them.”

“Sometimes,” the attendant speaks up, “babies manage to fill a diaper past capacity. If they’ve just pooped, or if the diaper was already a bit too full and then they poop, it can go, well, basically everywhere. And theywilldo it in a store or restaurant. Or in the car seat on the way to a doctor’s appointment.”

Chuckling again, which I’m sure is both related to the story and the face I’m making, Sam pats me on the shoulder.

“Kids are very messy.”

I turn to her with my brows raised, hanging the onesie with snaps back up on the rack and going for a similarly designed one that has a zipper.

“You know, I had a feeling, but I’ll hand it to you. That sounds…gross.”

Both the women just nod, and then we’re all laughing about the “messy” realities of rearing a child that often get glossed over or only played for laughs on sitcoms.

We peruse the shelves a bit more, and I decide on two more zipper onesies and a stuffed bear that is just so damned soft. Even I wouldn’t mind cuddling with it.

After I’ve settled on the items and paid, Sam and I both agree that it’s time for lunch. My stomach rumbles to make its point even more, and we exit the shop to stop at the café just down the street.

“God, I’m beat already. I don’t feel like it’s been too long, and I’m already looking forward to a nap.”

Sam giggles lightly as she holds the door open for me. La Pomme Rouge is a sweet little café that fully leans into the red apple theme.

From the floors to the ceiling, the happy orbs are everywhere, and yet, somehow, it isn’t cheesy or overdone. I admire how they were able to accomplish that.

“Good afternoon. Table for two?”

The hostess asks, and Sam and I nod in unison. “Yes, please.”

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