Page 121 of Keep Him Like Secrets

“Gina…”

“What?” she barked, tone fake-exasperated, tossing her long wavy brown hair.

“Why does the coffee that has tasted the exact same for the past few years suddenly taste different?” It was milder, less bitter.

“Listen, I’ve been in your shoes six times, miss ma’am. And that last time, I did it with five kids already tugging at my apron strings. But we still have to make smart decisions about what we put in our bodies.”

“Didn’t you tell me that during your first pregnancy you ate nothing but garlic knots and brownie batter ice cream?”

“Yes, well, you know better, you do better. I am imparting my hard-earned wisdom on you.”

“It’s decaf, isn’t it?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at her.

“You drink too much coffee.”

“I’ve cut down.”

“Your ‘cut down’ is a normal person’s consumption after being awake for forty-eight hours straight.”

“Decaf is gross.”

“Caffeine can cause small babies.”

“Well, this baby,” I said, pressing a hand to my stomach, “is measuring large for this stage in development.”

“Because its daddy is a giant. Look, you’re in the home stretch now. And this is the worst time to be drinking extra caffeine. So, just stick it out with the decaf for the next couple of weeks. If you’re tired, take a nap. That’s why that handsome man of yours had a sectional delivered to your office the moment the stick turned blue.”

“I can’t nap. I have—”

“A little human being growing inside of you who needs a healthy, low-stress momma. And a very capable assistant to pick up any slack. I’m looking for an excuse not to go home.” At my raised brow, she rolled her eyes. “My Christopher had to get a tooth filled today. Which means he’s basically acting like someone has strapped him down and pulled all his teeth. I can’t deal with him when he’s like this.

“You know he once had a cold. A little baby cold. And refused to get out of bed for ten days. Ten. He smelled like a damn locker room. I had to sleep in my daughter’s room. Then toss the sheets. There are some stinks that no amount of perfumed laundry detergent can get out.

“What were we talking about?”

“Naps.”

“Right. So waddle yourself back into that fancy office of yours, put on some calming music, curl up on the couch, pull down that fuzzy blanket, and get some rest.”

“It’s only eleven.”

“And yet you’ve yawned three times just during this conversation.”

“You’re worse than Soren,” I grumbled. “He insists on walking behind me each time I go up the stairs. Every single time.”

“That’s a good man you have there. Besides, those steps are a deathtrap. I’ve been saying that from the beginning.”

“We’re having someone in to put up sides.”

The whole apartment was being picked apart with a fine-tooth comb by a baby safety expert. Seeing as neither of us had much experience with babies, we were being paranoid about getting every inch of the place baby-proofed.

We’d also taken parenting classes, birthing classes, and CPR and first aid classes.

Though a part of me really, really regretted the birthing documentary we watched. I was pretty sure I would have preferred to go into my own delivery just blissfully unaware of… all that.

“Well, thank God for that.”

“Thank God for what?” Soren asked, stepping out of the elevator.

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