Page 35 of Upshot

“Yes,” Rand answers. “We’ll take this for today.” He places a soft baby blanket, a snuggly stuffed lamb, and several hooded towels on the counter. “Oh, and we’ll take two of the car seats with the best rating.” My mouth drops to the floor. He just gives me a serious look back. “We have to start somewhere.”

“But, two car seats?”

“We have two cars. It seems easier.” He runs his card through the machine, and the saleswoman bags up everything but the car seats. “Are there any maternity stores you recommend around here?” He’s given directions to a store across town.

Picking up one of the boxes, he tells me to wait for him and heads for the car. Umm, okay. Take charge Rand is all kinds of sexy.

“That one seems like a keeper,” the saleswoman tells me.

“I think you might be right.” The more time I spend with him, the more I agree. Shy Rand, demanding Rand, confused Rand. I like them all.

We spend another hour arguing over him buying me a new maternity wardrobe. He wins. It’s not like I have an old maternity wardrobe.

We pick up stretchy pants, blousy shirts, comfy pajamas, and new underwear. I even get a couple of nursing bras with the opening flaps. Rand is still grinning about those. I tell him they are the least sexy bras I’ve owned since puberty. and he points out they have easy-access flaps.

We’re still discussing his view that all bras need access panels when we get to lunch. I know, we ate only a few hours ago. I wasn’t lying, though, when I said I only have two gears right now. The hungry one, I can handle.

The horny one though? It’s becoming more of a problem. I knew most pregnant women vomit constantly in their first trimester, but no one told me about becoming a sex fiend in the second one.

Rand explaining his reasoning for easy nipple cover removal isn’t helping. It makes me think of all the things he could do with them. And… well, you get the picture.

At least he indulges the first one by taking me to one of the famous Mexican restaurants in town. Mexican food is my love language.

Soon, I’ve barrelled my way through a fully-loaded chimichanga. That should take a toll on the indigestion tonight. I don’t care, it’s too delicious. I also don’t turn down the churros dipped in chocolate. That should at least keep me through the first couple of bookstores.

“Ready?” Rand asks when I’ve inhaled the last churro.

Am I ready? I have never been so excited to go book shopping. Let me at that non-fiction section (and maybe a mystery or two). I snort and laugh diabolically. I should calm down. Rand looks a little scared.

By early evening, I have more books on historic architecture than I’ll ever read, a trunk full of baby things, and several hanging bags of fancy outfits.

And I have feet the size of Texas. I can now mark heartburn, backaches, peeing on myself when I sneeze, and swollen feet off the list. I’m afraid of what shape I’ll be in when this baby finally makes an appearance.

“I think I’m done for the day,” I groan, hobbling out of one of the trendy pubs downtown where we stopped for a drink. “I’m all shopped out. Trust me, that’s something I never thought I’d say.”

“So, no dancing then?” I glare at Rand. He smirks.

“I will smack you.” Not really. But I used to love dancing in the clubs around New York. It’s just one more thing that had to go. I sigh. I know all good things must come to an end. Especially with ankles the size of baseballs. But I’m not ready to go back yet. “I guess we should head back.”

“Or…” He hesitates.

“Or?”

“I know of a place we can stay tonight with a heated pool.” He has to be teasing me. I’ve heard floating in a pool is like biting off a piece of heaven for a pregnant woman. Not that I’m all that big yet, even though it feels like it.

“It’s just a thought. I can drive you home if you’d rather,” he adds. I should probably protest at least a little.

“That. Let’s do that.” So much for playing coy. I want that pool, damn it.

“Alright.” He’s trying to hide a smile. “It’s a short drive into the hills outside of town. Let me just get the car.”

thirteen

RAND

I’m sure you think this is some fiendish plan I’ve cooked up. It is, sort of. Ever since the word horny passed through those perfect lips of Brontë’s, I started scheming.

I mean, if she’s horny, isn’t it my job (as the baby daddy, of course) to tend to all of her needs? I think it’s a requirement. Anyway, I texted Bernadette. Within an hour, she sent me all the information I needed on a rental in the hills.

---