Page 110 of Sweet Twins For My Brother's Best Friend

He smirks at me and runs his tongue over his bottom teeth, setting his jaw crooked and showing me his dimples.

“Well? You look so good down there. Show me what you can do.” I run my fingers over his eyebrows before settling back down onto my back.

He chuckles, and I feel the wet tip of his tongue bury itself between my folds. I sigh and open my legs up to him even further, knowing the man between my legs will be my husband one day.

***

Four months have passed since the day that I drove Chris to the airport and sent him off to Maine with a kiss and a promise that I would hold down the fort in Los Angeles for him.

I’ve gotten word that Sarah is being prosecuted and I’ve provided all the proof available to me detailing her thefts over the years, although it will be up to detectives to sort through her finances and find the proof of her spending.

I’ve hired more employees for Chris and told my own clients that I’m on maternity leave.

I’m considering moving the office to a smaller location since I no longer need to live in the office.

It’s gotten chillier here in Los Angeles, no longer the sunny spring during which we met.

It’s never exactlycold, but it gets dreary and rainy and the damp seems to somehow soak into my bones, making it unpleasant to be walking the beach. If I can’t go to the beach, that means it’s winter as far as I’m concerned.

While Chris is gone, I’ve taken the opportunity to paint a baby mural across one wall of the nursery.

I decided on a landscape scene, with the horizon of LA, the tops of buildings and the ocean water shimmering beneath the high sun. I’ve nearly finished the lavender outline when I feel a pang shoot through my lower abdomen.

I reach to cup the bottom of my stomach. I catch myself doing that a lot lately, as though I’m worried the babies might fall out the bottom. I feel them stirring inside me, just underneath my skin, the strangest feeling that I now find to be normal and comforting.

I stop on top of the ladder, leaning against the wall and waiting for the cramp to pass.

When I think it has, I ease myself off the ladder before feeling another rip through me followed by water spilling onto the ground below me.

Quietly, I step backwards, staring at the puddle on the floor.I’m still 8 weeks early, so there’s no way that my water is breaking. Just breathe.

I walk away and close the door, opting to change my pants and worry about it later.

These last couple of weeks I seem to have completely lost the ability to hold in my pee, so it could just as easily be that.

That’s what I tell myself as I pull on a pair of jeans, fitting the stretchy elastic over my stomach, and as I fill my water bottle, and as I clip Lucy to her leash, and as I walk down the stairs.

All of my steps and motions followed by the thoughtIt’s still early, it’s still early, it’s still early, it’s still early,the words as heavy as my feet on the ground.

I pop Lucy into the car and drive her down to the dog park by my office.

With Chris gone, and being on maternity leave, I haven’t gone by that park in a while, so I’m hopeful she’ll find it exciting. I rest one hand on her back as her tongue trails out the window, saliva bubbling up on it against the wind.

We reach the park and I sit on a bench, no longer able to maneuver myself onto the ground anymore. For a while, I brought parasols with me everywhere in the heat, but with it cooling down, I can finally feel somewhat normal in a park, although I’m still hotter than everyone around me. Those pesky hormones again, I think.

I watch Lucy run around, tearfully for some reason, though I’m unsure why. As much as I appreciate being able to keep my babies safe inside me, I’m ready to be done with the emotional rollercoaster of pregnancy.

“Hannah?” I hear from in front of me as a figure stands in front of me, gratefully casting a shadow over me.

I sigh in relief as I look up and see Scott. “Scott, hi. It’s been a while.”

“Apparently longer than I realized,” he jokes, gesturing towards my convex stomach, my outie belly button peeking out from beneath my shrinking sweater.

“Oh, this? No, I’m just bloated. I had a lot of rice on the way here.” I smile at Scott and move over so that he can sit next to me.

“You look different, too,” I say, gesturing to the new handlebar mustache he’s sporting. Right as he twirls one end of it, I cry out in pain as another cramp shoots through me.

“Whoah!” Scott reaches out to me like I’m a bomb that might go off any moment, slowly lowering into a seated position beside me.

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