Page 44 of Bar Down, Baby

“Well, I suppose? If I had what I needed.” I frown, looking at Lule, trying to figure out where she’s going with this.

“It seems it could be useful to have two fulfillment centers. One on each coast. And it would save me having to move my inventory. You could fulfill shipping orders until we run out, and then see how it goes? What do you say?”

I cock my head, trying to figure out what has just happened as Aly grins and fans her eyes.

“Are you offering me a job?”

“I think so. This is good work. You could redesign my site. Fulfill orders for the west coast. The business is already incorporated in Oregon, so it won’t cost me anything extra to keep it open here. And the taxes are good for sales here.”

“That’s perfect!” Ainsley says.

“We can discuss salary. I’m not sure I can compete with titty bar money, but I can be fair for your time. Give you time to find another gig at another titty bar.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll be going back to another club,” I say. My hand drifts to my stomach, and I swear I feel Faye’s eyes on it. She doesn’t say anything, just smiles.

“Well, then that’s two bits of good news tonight!” Aly says, lifting her glass in the air just like Lule did earlier. “Nostrol-veeya!”

“That’s more like it!” Lule says, grabbing the pitcher and pouring its contents into my reserved glass and then passing it to me. “To the future of the Knitty Kitty! Na Zdrovia!”

I take the glass and clink it against hers as we all toast. I take a sip of the sweet-tart drink and nearly swallow before I realize what I’ve done. I spit it out in the glass.

“Oh, shit. I can’t drink that,” I say, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

The room is quiet as five sets of eyes stare at me. I slowly look up, swallowing thickly. I feel Faye’s hand on my back, in solidarity before anyone says anything.

“Surprise?” I say softly, my hand on my stomach.

CHAPTER17

MEGAN

Lule is incredible.Not only does she make good on her offer to hire me, but she brings me a new laptop the next day as well as packing supplies and a case of grapefruit soda. It’s one of the only things I’ve been able to truly enjoy.

We set up a corner of my room with a six-cubby shelving unit for inventory and a small folding table for packing. She also gets me a wireless printer. When I try to tell her I don’t mind going into the local shipping store, she sneers and says, “I don’t trust that hooligan behind the counter with my postage stamps, much less my business.” When I try to dig into that one, all she says is, “Bitch knows what she did.”

And I know to leave well enough alone.

A few days later, Ainsley has a lead on another small business in town that needs its e-commerce site re-done, and then a couple days after that, Aly surprises me with a small box of business cards.

“If you don’t like them, I can have them reprinted,” she says with a shy smile. But they’re so perfect. They read: Megan Massey, Web Design, E-commerce Consultant. They’re printed on red, marbleized cardstock and they are so quintessentially me that I cry. But the thing that really does me in is when the girls surprise me with a gift bag full of colorful maternity clothes.

While I’m feeling much better thanks to the medicines, I’m still not back to normal, and I’ve lost more weight than my doctor would like.

Meanwhile, Midge has been leaving boxes of peppermint tea and candied ginger. I don’t know where she is most of the time, but if she’s home, she’s quiet as a mouse.

It’s only been a week since I found out when I sit at a table in the back of the coffee shop around the corner, waiting for Derek. And it feels like such a different world. The last time I saw him, everything was so overwhelming. We’d ordered dinner, talked a little bit about our jobs, our friends, our schedules. And then he got busy with work and I got busy trying to start a business. And now I’m sitting in a coffee shop, anxiously awaiting my baby daddy. Life is so weird.

“Sorry I’m late,” Derek says, kissing my cheek.

Just that quick touch of his lips on my skin channels heat into my core. My eyelashes flutter against my cheeks on their own. Which is doing nothing for this whole “taking it slow” thing we agreed to.

“Were you waiting long?”

“No, not long,” I say, squeezing his bicep in thanks.

“Can I get you a snack?” Derek asks softly.

“No, I’m not that hungry.”

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