Page 96 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
She was ready for him to toss back a feisty reply. But his expression softened as his gaze slid to her exposed wrist and settled on her charm bracelet—the bracelet he’d given her on their wedding day.
“You wore it,” he said with that boyish grin she loved.
She glanced at the charms, taking in the silver ten and eight, the computer mouse, the tiny barbell, the mini sandal, and the trowel before tapping the cookie charm.
“For so long, even thinking of vegan cookies made me want to hurl. But when I caught a glimpse of my bracelet in my jewelry box, I didn’t feel like losing my breakfast. And for some strange reason, it seemed right to wear it today.”
“Our good luck charms?” he teased.
“I think so,” she answered, jangling the silver charms.
“We need to add another.”
“For the baby?”
“I was thinking a pineapple,” he said with a wink.
“That would actually work for the baby, and I could totally pound a pineapple juice right about now,” she said, then sighed longingly.
“Would you now?” he asked with a sly expression, then popped open the glove box to reveal a tiny, lunchbox-sized can of her drink du jour.
She plucked the can from its resting place, popped the top, and downed the liquid like a frat boy pounding a Natty Light.
“God help anyone who gets between you and a pineapple. And by the way, that’s the last one. We’ll have to stop at the store on the way home after the challenge and stock up,” he said, clapping the glove box closed.
She set the drained can on the dashboard, sweetly sated by the drink. “Noted. We’re pineapple or bust after the challenge ends.”
He tapped his hands on the steering wheel. “All right, messy bun girl. We’ve got you properly juiced-up. Let’s go kick ass in this challenge. I’ll help you and Faby out.”
She lifted Faby from the floorboard, then gazed into its, thankfully, not demon-red face. “I think we’re okay to get out of a car on our own,” she said, opening the car door and immediately wishing she hadn’t.
Sweet cow patties! The smell!
“That’s awful! What do you think that is? A buffalo?”
“Um…Georgie,” Jordan said as a couple, looking like they’d walked straight out of the caveman exhibit at the Museum of Natural History, got out of the car parked next to them.
“That’s the smell of an environmentally-friendly pregnancy. We’re a part of Nadine’s natural birth group. We’re here for a prenatal goat yoga session,” the hairy pregnant woman barked.
Cornelia was not kidding. Nadine’s birthing group was hardcore. And Georgie couldn’t fault the woman for being in a bad mood. Walking around like a pregnant Oscar the Grouch couldn’t be fun.
“That sounds lovely. It’s a perfect day for goat yoga,” she answered like a ventriloquist, keeping her lips pressed together and wishing she could clamp her nostrils shut.
She plastered on a closed-mouth smile as the couple headed toward a group of other pregnant cave people, and Jordan came to her side.
“I think you’re smelling the cows, babe,” he said, then pointed over to a pasture beyond a row of cars where a trio of hay munching moo machines grazed.
“I didn’t know they had cows! Were there cows here last time?” she asked, taking his arm.
“I wouldn’t know. I was more focused on the goats.”
“Where do you think we should go?” she asked just as she spied Barry near the barn, blessedly, not anywhere close to Nadine’s group.
The CityBeat producer waved them over.
“We missed you this morning!” he called, filming them as they walked up.
“We had a little mishap with the law,” she answered, then looked up at her now rose-cheeked husband.
