Page 4 of Reclaimed

Wrong because I’m lying to her.

Wrong because I’m spending money I should be saving for my baby.

I swallow down the emotional bubble welling inside me.

“Isla?”

“Hm?”

“I asked if you liked that shirt. You’ve been staring at it for a solid minute.”

I glance down at the red fabric clenched in my fist. I drop the shirt. “Ew, no. Red is for harlots.”

Juniper bursts into laughter. “Weren’t you just going on about the new red set you just got for XO’s?”

“That’s different.”

“How so?”

“Because at work I’m pretending to be a harlot.” I grin. “I’m done here. Let’s go somewhere else.”

We pay for our purchases and walk down the street to the local coffee shop.

The smell of freshly ground beans stops me beneath the tinkering bell. My mouth waters, and I can practically feel the jolt of caffeine rushing through my veins. I follow behind Juniper to the counter.

“My treat,” she says, turning to me and indicating I should order.

“I’ll get a decaf americano with a shot of caramel and a splash of heavy cream.”

Juniper studies me from the corner of her eye, reciting her own order before handing over her credit card.

I have to hand it to her. She makes it all the way to the secluded table in the far corner before she goes on the offensive.

“Since when do you drink decaf?” She blows on the rim of her mug before taking a cautious sip.

“Since I found out I’m pregnant,” I reply.

She must mistake my nerves for a monotone punchline because she laughs. “Yeah, right.”

I swallow a small sip and avert my gaze out the window.

“Oh my god, you’re serious.”

“I miss real coffee.” I gaze at my cup sadly as tears well in my eyes.

She pushes her cup across the table. “Have a drink of mine.”

I blow out a forceful breath. “No. It’s okay. It’s not good for the baby.”

“I’m sure one drink will be fine.”

I shake my head. “I can’t. If I start making concessions now, who knows what I’ll be doing toward the end of my pregnancy when I’m truly miserable. It’s a gateway drug.”

“I don’t think coffee is going to be a catalyst for poor decision making.”

“I have to stay strong.” I pick up my weak cup of decaf and sigh wistfully.

Her warm palm covers mine. “Are you okay?”

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