Page 15 of Baby, Be Mine

“Pro-tip, Ace. All women are different.”

His face went adorably red. I was trying not to notice how attractive he was. The strawberry blond hair and preppy clothes usually would turn me off. Must have been the wilding pregnancy hormones. I usually went for the artsy, esoteric, dramatic types. Not a salt-of-the-earth and stable guy who probably took his shoes off at the door and ate at the same time every day.

I was pretty sure I’d had a saltine with a Yoplait yogurt sometime this morning. Oh, and of course, the fries. I’d practically licked the plate.

Maybe that was why I was feeling off.

“Miss Hauser?”

“Em, Emma, Emmaline even, but Miss Hauser sounds too close to my mother the ma—” I cut myself off. No way did I want to tell him who my family was. Not that he would know who the Hausers were in Clintondale, but the mayor’s wife was just asking for too many questions.

And I was not going there right now.

“Your mother the…”

“Matriarch of my family. I have a big family and,” I shuddered, “that’s not me.”

He frowned at me. “Okay. Emma, then. You look a little pale.”

I waved him off. “It’s hot as hell, Mr. Brooks.”

“Right. Well, we can just go for first names for both of us. Call me Mason.” He went around the bar and reached into a cooler. “How about I show you around upstairs,” he handed me a water, “and we’ll see what we see?”

I took the water and popped the top, glugging down most of the bottle. I was so damn thirsty. I wiped my chin with the back of my hand. “That sounds like a very good plan.”

“After you, then.” He glanced down at my belly again. “I mean, maybe we shouldn’t. It’s not much different from this floor.”

“I’m fine.” I turned resolutely toward the spiral stairs. I could totally do this. If I wanted this job, I’d be climbing these stairs all the time. Probably with a baby tied to my chest in that Baby Boba wrap thingie my sister had sent me in the mail.

I could do this.

Iwoulddo this—I didn’t have a choice.

I shimmied up the first curve of the stairs and the railing brushed my dress like a whisper.

The fact that the whisper told me to turn around was only mildly annoying.

It was only fifteen stairs. I could do this. I got to the second curve and the pain rocketed from the back of my leg right up to my neck.

This time, I couldn’t hold back the yelp.

“Emma?”

I heard his voice as if it was a long way off. Suddenly, my legs were wet and so was my face. Mostly because the waterworks had started from every orifice evidently.

I braced myself on the railing and my legs nearly buckled.

“Not now, bean.”

I wasn’t ready. I was supposed to do this in a softly lit room in Crescent Cove’s soothing birthing center. I’d booked the suite with the magical energy that a local witch had designed.

Crystals and music and the sweetest little hand-carved crib beside the hospital bed.

Perfectly lovely.

Notthis.

I heard a pounding as Mason rushed up the stairs.

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