“I can cook,” I say with a hand on my hip.
“Aren’t you supposed to be building a foundation, as you called it, not burning one down?”
I toss a fortune cookie at her and laugh. “You just wait.”
“Come on, let’s eat,” she says with a nod toward the living room.
With our plates in hand, we mosey into our favorite dinner spot in the apartment.The Officeis paused on the TV as we pull the coffee table closer to settle in.
This right here. The comfort and ease of being with my best friend. I’m going to miss it.
I don’t like change, but at this point in my life, it’s inevitable. The sooner I get used to it, the better.
CHAPTER SIX
Sydney
I never want to leave this bed.
Seriously, what brand is this? It’s like a freaking cloud. And look at my pillow—hell, since when do I drool?
I curl up on my side and nestle my face into my pillow.
Money really can buy nice things.
I’m not going to let myself believe that this could be my life forever, like I did at one point, but I need a good bed to rest in while I’m pregnant, right?
Yeah. Mark wasn’t thinking of just me when he bought this bed. He was thinking of the baby, too, and it would be wrong to refuse it.
You only get it for six weeks, Sydney. Don’t forget that.
Rolling to my back, I spread out like I’m making a snow angel, and then I let out a giggle. This bed is seriously the softest bed I’ve ever been in.
Oh, the small pleasures in life.
Shoot. Am I supposed to lay on my back?
I quickly roll over and grab the book my doctor gave me off my nightstand. I open it to the index, but I don’t know exactly what to look for, so I grab my phone and Google “lying on your back while pregnant.”
Thirty minutes of an online black hole later and I’ve read one too many horror stories on why women shouldn’t lie on their backs. But I refuse to panic, and just roll to my side.
“Syd,” Mark calls from the other side of my door, following it with a knock. “Are you awake?”
I toss the covers off and make my way to the door. As soon as I open it, Mark smiles. His eyes slowly take in my appearance.
He scratches his chin—I love that he’s kept the facial hair—and chuckles.
“What?”
“I like the outfit.”
I glance down at my gray shirt, purple and black plaid pants, and my neon-green fuzzy socks.
“Me too.”
“It fits you.”
“What does that mean?” I cross my arms and lean against the doorframe.
