Page 1 of Just My Style

Chapter 1

Cara

“Look who’s awake,” my best friend, Margo, says, walking into the room with a chubby baby in her arms. “Want to hold him?”

“Yes, please!” I reach for a pair of compression gloves that are tucked into the side pocket of my handbag. “Just let me—”

“Slip into your kid gloves?” she teases.

“Don’t pretend like your baby doesn’t have claws. I think he’s part wolverine,” I quip, sliding my hands into the soft fabric. As a hand model, I frequently wear gloves to protect against accidental scrapes, cuts, and burns. These particular gloves do double-duty, also helping with the joint pain that years in the business have caused.

I hold out my arms for the baby, and he leans toward me, reaching out with chubby arms that resemble stuffed sausages. I swear I can feel my ovaries quiver. There’s just something about a fat baby that makes a gal’s biological clock tick.

I clutch him to my side and dip my face toward his, making silly faces at him. “Say Cara. Care-uh. Caaaaaare-uh.” He happily babbles gibberish in response. “Close enough,” I say with a laugh.

“He’s only seven months old,” Margo says, chuckling. “It’ll be a few more months before he says his first real word.”

“But he has so much to say now.” I raise him above my head, and he giggles with glee. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Fishy Fish Face?”

Margo groans. “Could you please not call my baby Mr. Fishy Fish Face?”

I shrug apologetically. “I warned you when you decided to name him Fisher that he’d be saddled with fish-related nicknames for the rest of his life. There’s no avoiding it now.”

“Fisher is a wonderful name,” she protests. “All of the men in his life are fishermen. His father, Grandpa Coop, his Uncle Bishop, his cousin Jared. Even his Aunt Hazel fishes.”

My face stretches into a grin. “But not his mama.”

“Not his mama,” Margo agrees, scrunching her nose in disgust and smoothing an impeccably tailored wrap dress over her ample hips.

Despite being a new mom, she looks every bit as fashionable as she did when we shared an apartment in New York City. Sure, she wears comfortable, easy-to-wash fabrics now, but she doesn’t sacrifice style. Not even a little.

I tilt my head, inspecting the dress. “Does that come in black?”

“Yes, but we don’t carry it in black at Sticks & Stones,” she says, referring to her trendy boutique that sells clothes to woman of all shapes and sizes. “I have it in a sky blue that would perfectly match your eyes, though.”

I stare at her in disbelief. “You don’t carry it in black?”

“Black may be a staple in New York, but it’s a hard sell in a beachside boutique. Customers prefer color here.”

I stare at baby Fisher with wide eyes. “Are you hearing this, Fishy? Your mama used to be a New Yorker. Now, she’s a—” I wrinkle my nose and shake my head. “—beach bum.”

Margo laughs. “I wouldn’t go that far. New Yorkers still make up a huge percentage of my online clientele. Speaking of which, you can buy this dress in black through the Sticks & Stones website.”

I lower my nose to Fisher’s head and inhale his sweet baby smell. “Why don’t we go wake your sister up?” I whisper to him conspiratorially.

“Don’t you dare,” Margo says, narrowing her eyes at me. “It’s a blessing that at least one of my twins is a good sleeper.”

I sigh dramatically. “I can’t believe you’d deny me the opportunity to say goodbye to Hildy before I head to the airport.”

A flicker of sadness flashes in Margo’s eyes. “I wish you could stay longer. You’ve only been here for two days.”

“Me too,” I say, blinking back tears, already missing her so much that it hurts.

We used to be inseparable. Before she left New York City to open a boutique in the small, seaside town of Friendly, Georgia. As hard as it was to see her leave, I knew it was what was best for her. If she’d stayed in New York, she’d still be a junior buyer for Boutique Chrysalis, unappreciated and overworked by her tyrant of a boss. In Friendly, she’s a businessowner, a wife, and a mother.

All that and an ocean view to boot. She truly has it all. But no one is more deserving than Margo.

That doesn’t mean I’m not green with envy at times, though. At least I can be like an aunt to her amazing kids.

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