Chapter 33
Lindsey
The following morning, I stare into the mirror of the spare bathroom inside Bronwyn's condo and take in the tailored slacks that won't button or zip and the silky top that's straining across my boobs.
That's pregnancy for you, my inner voice whispers. I return to the bedroom and search through my clothes, trying to find something a little looser. I've been living in leggings and shorts and T-shirts, but those won't do for an interview.
A knock sounds at my door, and I call a frazzled, "Come in."
"Hey, how's— Oh. What's wrong?"
I turn to face Bronwyn and sweep my hands from chest to belly, making the universal signal of “nothing fits” frustration.
Bronwyn bites back a smile. "Don't move. I'll be right back."
I stare at the clothes that I'd so carefully placed in the closet now lying strewn and discarded on the bed and floor.
"I'm a size bigger than you. See if any of these fit."
I turn and see Bronwyn carrying an arm load of clothes. "You are an absolute lifesaver."
She lays them out on the bed atop the others and points at a shortsleeved A-line dress in a medium blue. "That one first."
The dress is perfect for an interview—if it fits.
I yank off the top and don the dress, then shove the too-tight pants down to my ankles and let the dress fall into place. Then I breathe. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you." She nailed it on the first try, and it's beautiful.
"Need shoes?" Bronwyn asks.
"No, I have flats that'll go perfectly with this." That's one of the things I like about living here. Even dress clothes are business casual, and the women wear either flats or wedges due to sinking into the sand. My high-heeled days are mostly behind me—I hope. I'm a girly girl and like dressing up on occasion, but I love the fact that heels won't be a daily thing for me now.
"That blue looks fantastic on you."
I pause long enough to take a look in the mirror and have to agree that it's a great dress. Professional yet feminine. And it fits.
I hurry to the closet, having lost far too much time scrambling into and out of clothes, and hunt out the flats. Which are on the bottom of the pile, of course.
I head to the bed and put them on and look up to see Bronwyn standing arms crossed and a worried expression on her face.
"What? Is something wrong? Did I screw up my hair in all the changing?"
"No, you look great. I just worry that this is a lot of stress for you and the baby."
"The stress is from not having an income," I tell her. "I mean, I have savings, but it'll only last so long. I'm okay. Especially now that the meds have kicked in and are helping so much."
"Just promise me that if it's too much, you'll consider my offer?"
Late last night, Bronwyn had offered to cover the cost of the delivery from the inheritance she'd received from my brother, Jason. "You're sweet to do that, and you have no idea how much I appreciate it but—no. I can't accept it. He left that money to you, Bron. Jason and I were close, but we saw each other once a year at best. You're the one who cared for him at his worst, and you're the one who deserves that gift."
Her mouth flattens at my stubbornness.
"Well, just know it's on the table and there if you need it, okay? It's one thing to be an independent woman but not at the expense of your health or the baby's."
"I'll remember that," I promise, standing. "Now, how do I look? Like a professional advertising assistant?"
Bronwyn smiles. "Yes. Now go get that job."
Thirty minutes later, I enter Salt Air Media, and the receptionist greets me with a smile. "You must be Lindsey. You're here for an interview with Quinley?"
