Page 97 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
Barry nodded. “I know. I saw the—”
“Georgie! Jordan!” Lenny interrupted, standing next to the barn door. “You’re the last couple to arrive. You better hurry. We’re about to begin.”
“We’ll talk later,” she said to Barry, patting the man’s arm as they hurried inside.
“We’ll let you get to work,” Jordan said to the man over his shoulder as they entered the giant structure.
Last time they were here, they hadn’t ventured inside the weathered enclosure. She blinked, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. Thin slivers of light carved their way through large wooden beams crisscrossing the top of the barn. Stalls with a few horses lined the sides, but still allowed for a great open space in the center where a circle had been made using hay bales.
Jordan leaned down and lowered his voice. “It’s too bad you left your cowgirl boots at home.”
She inhaled a sharp breath.Vroom, vroom!Who knew pregnant women walked around like roly-poly sexpots?
“I have an idea,” she whispered back.
“What?”
“The naughty milkmaid and the ripped farmer.”
“They do say milk does a body good,” he replied when Lenny stopped and turned to face them.
“What was that, Jordan?” he asked with a crinkle to his brow.
Jordan’s blush returned. “I was wondering if they produced their own milk at the farm—from the cows because if Georgie was dressed as a milkmaid, she could milk a cow.”
She nodded as if her husband made perfect sense and hadn’t replied with a comment best described as vitamin D enriched nonsense.
“I’m not sure. We’re not here to do any farm work or milking,” the man answered, then pointed to a spot on the ground between two couples. “You can settle in right here.”
Straw had been scattered over the barn floor, and Georgie glanced at the other couples to get the lay of the land. The non-pregnant partner took a seat on the ground and leaned against the bale of hay while the pregnant partner scooted in between the non-prego person’s legs and relaxed into their embrace.
It was very maternity ward meetsLittle House on the Prairie.
“You’re going to get me into trouble, messy bun girl,” he teased, getting into the non-pregnant position.
“Save it for the lake, farmer boy,” she parried back, handing him Faby while she maneuvered to the ground.
She nestled into her ripped farmer’s embrace as a guitar strum cut through the couples’ murmuring.
“Let’s start with a singalong everyone knows,” Stu said, tambourine in hand.
“How about, ‘You Are My Sunshine,’” Lenny called, strumming the refrain.
This might be weird had their first encounter with these two not started with singing. This whole sitting-on-the-floor thing had an odd summer camp vibe to it. At least they weren’t doing goat yoga with the angry hairy pregnant people. The song ended, and Lenny and Stu took a bow as everyone clapped.
“We are so excited for the Battle of the Births gender reveal challenge,” Lenny said, addressing the group as a trio of CityBeat cameramen spread out along the periphery of the circle, filming the event from all angles.
Stu took a step forward. “Let’s recap. Everyone did a great job on the Virtual Reality simulator challenge,” he announced, when Lenny whispered something into his ear.
“Almosteveryone did a great job on the simulator,” the man said, amending his statement.
“We would have been fine if that VR baby hadn’t been a diarrhea volcano,” Jordan said under his breath.
“And all but one couple made it to the hospital on time for the practice-run challenge,” Lenny chimed.
Jordan tensed, and she craned her neck to whisper in his ear.
“Don’t worry, Emperor. Even with a boatload of diarrhea, we’re still not in last place.”
