Page 57 of Calamity Rayne Knocked Up

“MadamDavenport!” Chef Dubois greeted me affectionately, pulling me into a carbohydrate-scented hug.

It was customary for people to hug their bakers, right?

He glanced down at me as he held my shoulders. “It’s been weeks since I’ve seen you. I was getting worried.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been busy.”

“You look pale. I have just the thing to restore your pluck. Take a look.”

I wandered over to the display and admired the variety of confections. The air in this place smelled like heaven on earth. “Ooh, you have éclairs!”

He moved behind the counter, opening a large box. “How many?”

“Two, please. No, four. I might want some tomorrow.” I gasped. “And what’s that?”

“That’s tarte tatin, an upside-down caramelized apple tart with a buttery pastry dough, baked then flipped over so the caramelized topping drizzles all the way through.”

Was it possible to get aroused by pastries? “Yeah, I’ll take three of them.”

When Chef Dubois rang up my order, four boxes were filled with sugary treasures. “I think you missed me, Madam Davenport,” he teased.

“Well, I always miss you.”

“I can tell.” He slid the boxes forward. “You’re my best customer.”

“Well, I’m not alone. I’m actually ordering for two, now.”

He glanced up from the antique register, his dark eyes widening under his bushy, white brows. “Enceinte?A baby?”

I smiled and nodded. Chef Dubois rushed out from behind the counter and hugged me.

“Congratulation!Merveilleuse!”

We danced about the bakery in an affectionate hug I was certain other customers didn’t come close to experiencing with their baker. Yeah, I was definitely his favorite.

Chef Dubois helped me carry my boxes to the car and insisted I not wait so long between visits. He also told me to call him with any craving, and he would make it happen. It was like having secret access to James Bond, but better. On the drive home, I was strongly considering him for the godfather of my unborn child.

By my sixteenth week, I noticed some physical changes in my waistline—partially due to nature and partially due to my close ties to the baker. Jeans were a thing of the past. That was decided long beforepregnancy because zippers and buttons were just a lot of drama. Leggings and underwear had always been my go-to, but even they felt tight now.

I bought some high-waisted granny panties and sized up so there was room to grow. My wardrobe was narrowing to loose-fitting sundresses and my coziest cardigans. With my puffy ankles, it wasn’t very sexy, but it was comfy. And comfy was my jam.

Thanksgiving was around the corner and we were celebrating at the New England Riverton Estate. Marta was cooking at Remington’s house and Odette was staying with him. We would crash at Hale’s section of the estate with our mothers. Seraphina was staying at her portion and Barret was staying at his—with a girl.

“Who is she?” I asked Hale as he drove us to the ultrasound appointment.

“All I know is that he met her in New York, and her name is McKinsley.”

“Wait, what?McKinsley?What the fuck kind of name is that? Is there a little C in there?”

“I didn’t ask for her documentation, Rayne.”

“Is she a model?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is she pretty?”

“I’d suspect yes.”

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