Page 46 of The Grumpy Doc's Surprise Delivery

I knew that from the start. And now I’m starting to see that I should have believed it.

CHAPTER 24

EMMA

“After you,” I say, holding the door open for Phoebe, who shoots me a hard look as she crosses the threshold.

“There’s no point telling you that I’m just pregnant, not incompetent again, is there?”

“I don’t think you’re incompetent. I’m just being polite.”

“Come on, then,” grumbles Phoebe. “Or do you want to choose a table for us too?”

“You’re the worst.” I grin. I am winding her up on purpose now, and she knows it because she’s doing exactly the same to me.

She sticks her tongue out at me. “You love me really.”

There’s nothing that I can really add to that because it’s true.

We’re having our weekly outing to Phoebe’s favorite café, about ten minutes’ drive from her and Tom’s home. They do the best pastries in the city and have these amazing coffee blends that seem like they shouldn’t work, but they always do. We’ve been coming in here for years.

We make our way to a table and sit down with a sigh. “I’ll go and get some coffee,” she says. “What do you want?”

“Hot chocolate, extra sugar, extra cream, please.”

“Only you would want to drink a hot chocolate in the middle of summer.”

“Phoebe, it is literally September.”

“Yes, and the sun’s out, and it’s a glorious day.”

“And what are you getting?”

She shrugs. “I’ll decide when I get there.”

You alwaysdois what I want to say, but then my stomach flips over, and bile rises in my throat. “I’ll be one second,” I say. “I just have to go to the restroom.”

Clutching my stomach, I run to the bathroom and vomit in the toilet, thankful that I managed to make it all the way. My eyes stream with tears, and my lungs heave as I try to regain some semblance of control. I hate throwing up, and even more, I hate throwing up in public.

Plus, I don’t want Phoebe to start worrying about me. She has enough of her own problems without me being sick too. I can’t be sick, not right now.

I have to be there for her. She’s going to give birth in a matter of weeks, maybe even days, if she’s early.

Tom is away again, so I’m the only one there for her.

She needs me.

Eventually, the nausea passes and I stumble to the basin to splash my face with water. My mouth tastes of bile and my eyes are streaming, and I stand and stare at myself in the mirror until I deem that my eyes have stopped being too red and my stomach has settled enough to cope.

I return quickly to Phoebe and sit down. I guess I must have been gone longer than I thought, because I’m met with a steaming hot chocolate.

“You didn’t have to get me one,” I say. “It was meant to be my treat.”

“You just threw up again, didn’t you?” she says like she didn’t even hear me.

I nod slowly. “I feel terrible, I’m not going to lie. I must be getting some sort of bug or something. Ugh! That’s so annoying. I don’t want to take time off work because someone gave me a bug. I’m sure I’ll get over it soon. It’s been a few days now.”

“Uh-huh,” says Phoebe, stirring her own iced tea with the straw.

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