Page 7 of The Pocket Pair

“I don’t want Jo to feel less than if we have a biological child,” Lindy says, looking dangerously close to crying.

If she cries … I’m going to cry. So, selfishly, I really need her to hold it together.

“No kid is as loved as Jo,” Winnie says, pausing in her box-reading to give Lindy’s shoulder a squeeze. “She won’t feel that way. If you’re pregnant.”

“If,” Lindy agrees. “I’m probably not.”

Winnie pushes up her glasses, giving Lindy’s chest a pointed look. “Yeah. If.”

“Whatever happens, we’re here,” I tell Lindy. “Okay?”

She nods emphatically, but her eyes are still glistening. My own eyes start stinging, and I bite the inside of my cheek.

MUST. NOT. WEEP. IN. CVS.

“You know,” Winnie says, glancing up and down the aisle with narrowed eyes, “it’s ridiculous how they lump these items together: tampons, condoms, and pregnancy tests. Doesn’t this seem darkly ironic somehow?”

It’s clear she’s trying to lighten the mood a little, and at least for me, it’s working. Lindy snorts out a laugh, and I feel her relax against me.

“I’m not sure this is irony,” I say. “But let’s not forget the adult diapers.”

Lindy giggles. “This is not aisle seven. It’s the aisle of embarrassment.”

A throat clears nearby, but before any of us even has a chance to turn, a deep and familiar voice says, “Periods, pregnancy, and peeing your pants are not things to be embarrassed about, ladies.”

Winnie gasps, Lindy lets out a little scream, and I hurl the pregnancy test I’m holding at the man standing at the end of the aisle. It’s only as the box hits him in the center of the forehead that I realize the man is Chevy. Winnie’s brother.

AKA my longtime, semi-secret, super impossible crush.

Annnnd I just beaned him in the face with a pregnancy test.

This truly is the aisle of embarrassment.

“Nice arm, slugger,” Chevy says with a grin that makes my heart thump unsteadily. “I suppose I might have deserved that.” He bends to pick up the box.

Oh, no. Don’t look at the box. Do. Not. Look. At. The Box.

Lindy clutches my elbow, and I swear the three of us all hold our breath as Chevy picks up the pregnancy test. But casual as can be, he sets it on a shelf. When he offers us the same crooked smile that makes my knees feel wobbly, my breath leaves my chest in a whoosh, and Lindy loosens her death grip on my arm.

Just act casual, I tell myself. There’s nothing to see here! Definitely no potential pregnancies. Nope! We’re just three friends, driving out of town to hang out next to adult diapers in CVS. A typical Tuesday night!

Even if Chevy finds out why we’re here, he wouldn’t say anything. Probably. Though he is Pat’s best friend, and has basically worked his way into being the unofficial fourth Graham son. Surely, he would be loyal to his sister and her best friend.

Wouldn’t he?

“Are you following us?” Winnie demands.

“Y’all aren’t that interesting,” Chevy says with a wink. “I was just picking up some snacks for the drive back home from Austin.”

Winnie crosses her arms. “Where are the snacks?”

Chevy might be the cop, but he’s the one being interrogated. And it’s a solid question. Where are these alleged snacks?

He tilts his head toward the front of the store. “Left them at the self-checkout when I heard the telltale sounds of a few shady characters up to no good.”

I know he’s teasing. I know it because I’ve known him my whole life and have made studying him a hobby. A tortuous one, considering my crush and the lack of any observable evidence that he sees me as anything more than a friend. More specifically, his sister’s friend, which is somehow worse.

Anyway, I know from his tone he’s joking, but we actually are being shady. Or, at least, secretive. His words hitting so close to the truth make my paranoia grow roots and sprout like a field full of weeds.

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