Page 51 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
“And Will and I have you to thank,” Irene added.
Georgie cocked her head to the side. “You do?”
Irene gazed lovingly at her husband. “If it weren’t for your Own the Eights blog, I wouldn’t have met my husband. And, without Will’s encouragement, I don’t know if I would have taken the leap and agreed to move across the Atlantic.”
“We owe you big. We do,” Will answered, then pressed a kiss to his wife’s temple.
“That’s great news! We’re so happy for you both,” Jordan said, shaking Will’s hand, then leaning over to kiss Irene’s cheek.
Everyone turned their attention to the Iceland-bound couple, but Georgie felt a pregnancy haze coming on as the group’s conversation faded into the background.
She was happy for Irene, but now she was three for three.
First, sweet nurse Gina. Then, her gynecologist, Dr. Rosenstein. And now, Irene.
One, two, three.
Uno,dos, and gone without atres!
Her blog—her words—had helped these women find love. They’d also taken them thousands of miles away when she needed them the most.
“What’s going on?” came a man’s voice from behind.
It was most likely a bookshop patron chatting with a companion, but as she watched the landscape of her life shift yet again, she blew out a tight breath.
“Irene is moving to Iceland, my gynecologist is kicking it in Australia, and I’m pregnant,” she replied, answering the question aloud to herself, even though it wasn’t meant for her.
“You’re pregnant?” came the same voice. A voice she could not believe she hadn’t recognized.
She whipped around to find Brice Casey—the man who seemed to pop up in every phase of her life—standing behind her, donning his Casey Pest Control T-shirt.
She pinched herself, testing to see if this was a pregnancy mirage. But he was still there, smiling that goofy grin with his perfect hair. Granted, she’d softened on Brice—even liked the guy. He did get them to their wedding on time, thanks to his penchant for showing up at key moments in her life. He’d even stayed for the nuptials, and they did the Chicken Dance together. More than that, she couldn’t forget that her disastrous date with him years ago had been the catalyst for starting the Own the Eights blog. Without this well-meaning, half-witted asshat, who knows where she’d be!
“What are you doing here, Brice?” she asked.
He held up a sheet of paper. “Making sure you don’t have any creepy crawlies in the bookstore.”
Georgie froze. “Are there spiders in my shop?”
The thought of those eight-legged mini-monsters made her want to head for the spider-less hills.
“No, but Becca mentioned you guys never had a pest control check the other night when we were…”
“Discussing bookshop maintenance. Let me look over the invoice,” her friend interjected, rushing to Brice’s side and plucking the sheet of paper from his grasp.
Was this another possible pregnancy hallucination?
“Are you and Brice…” she trailed off, staring at her friend.
Becca scoffed and waved her off. “As the manager, I’ve got a little bookstore business to deal with,” she answered, then took the pest control prince by the arm and led him toward the office.
That was certainly odd.
She was about to mention her hunch about Becca and Brice to Jordan when his phone pinged, and like one of Pavlov’s dogs, instantly, she knew what was coming.
“Is that a CityBeat alert?” she asked.
In the flurry to get out the door, she’d left her cell at home, but she’d bet two slices of pineapple cheesecake that her phone just pinged the alert as well.
