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Jordan laughs. “See?” he says to Leo.
“Oh, I see it,” Leo agrees.
“You’re both idiots,” I tell them.
That makes them both laugh harder.
Is the door handle moving?
It is.
I hold my breath with anticipation—which probably tips my hand even more, but here we are.
I can’t argue with my friends. Jordan’s correct. Right now, I feel lovesick as my eyes hang on the slowly opening door.
It’s Gwen.
It has to be Gwen.
It is.
She pokes her head in first. Her wavy, soft-looking auburn hair frames her face in wisps. The longer layers are up high on her head, still contained with the clip. She’s hugging a bundle of file folders and a tablet to her chest.
“Hey,” she says, in that soft-spoken way she has. Her eyes sweep the room, find mine, and lock on.
This feeling that courses through me—heating my blood and quickening my heart—is insanely pleasurable. It’s so good that I want to bottle it up to save some for later.
Jordan lets out a quick, low laugh… at me, I’m sure. I can feel Leo’s smirk, though I’m not looking his way.
I want to hit my friends. First, Jordan for guffawing. Then, Leo, for the snicker he adds in. They keep this up, Gwen will know we were talking about her.
“Come on in,” I tell her.
I’m up now. Crossing the studio. Walking to her.
I can’t help it.
She enters the room, hesitation slowing her steps. Her green sweater complements her auburn hair. I didn’t notice that before, but it’s very clear right now. She comes to a stop at my side. It feels so right to stand here with her.
Her eyes break from mine and survey my friends. “Hey, guys. Leo and Jordan, right? I’ve been listening to the podcast for six years.”
They each stand and shake her hand.
“How’s your wife doing, Leo?” she asks in her quiet, gentle, warm way. “I heard on an episode a few weeks ago that the due date is mid-November. What a beautiful time of year to have a baby. She’ll get to settle in and get so cozy over the winter.”
He smiles at her. Thankfully, it’s not a smirk. This talk about his wife has shifted him from a sarcastic buffoon to a mature father figure. “Yeah, hey, thanks. Sweet of you to remember that. She’s doing great.”
“Good.” Gwen beams. She looks up at me. “Hey, remember what I said about the onesies for newborns?”
“Ahem.” I clear my throat into my fist. Talking about babies has never been hard to do before this instant.
But for some reason, talking about babies with Gwen makes my throat feel as dry as a chalkboard.
“You… ah hem. You said that there are some cute ones these days. With print on demand.”
“Yep. Exactly.” With her blue-green eyes resting on mine, she tilts her head over toward Leo, like she’s trying to convey a silent message.
Then I get it. She’s sending me a message about how I should get a onesie for Leo. As a gift, for the baby. I nod.
