Page 68 of Line Change

“Don’t go,” he says, reaching for me as I pull away from him.

I turn back to him, leaning over and brushing my lips against his cheek. “I have to go to work. Go back to sleep.”

He cracks one eye open. “Take a sick day?”

“Can’t. I need to save all my vacation and sick time for when the baby gets here.”

The team gives employees four months of fully paid maternity leave and then lets us take up to another six months unpaid, or if we have vacation days accrued, we can use them. My plan is to be off for six months, and I want to have as little of it as unpaid as possible, which means not using my paid time off unless I absolutely have to. Well, that was my plan. Now that I’m getting this inheritance, or I hope I am, I guess it doesn’t matter if I have to take unpaid leave. So I could theoretically take the day off. Except I have a few meetings this morning I can’t really skip. So work it is.

He blows out a breath, accepting my response. “We’re still on for lunch?”

My heart flutters. I don’t know why, but it does. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

I stare at him for a few seconds. All I want to do is climb back into bed with him, but I need to get ready. So I force myself to walk out of the room and into the guest bathroom where all my stuff still is. I thought about moving it into his bathroom, but then I’d have to worry about making too much noise and possibly waking him up. Having separate bathrooms is practical.

After using the bathroom and going through my skincare routine, I head into the guest room to find something to wear, which is becoming more and more difficult as a lot of my clothes are getting tight, making it harder to hide my baby bump.

I rummage through my dresser for a bra and grab one of the two new ones I bought a few days ago because my boobs basically grew overnight, and my old bras were not cutting it. Those and comfortable underwear were at the top of my list of things to buy, and they’re the only maternity clothes I’ve got so far.

I grab a pair of slacks out of my closet and attempt to put them on, but I can’t get them to close around my belly. Great. They fit last week. I take them off, dropping them on the floor, and grab a second pair in a bigger size.

These fit a bit better but won’t button. I blink back tears. They were big last week. I leave both pairs in a pile on the ground and put on my favorite stretchy skirt. Thankfully, it at least still fits and is comfortable.

“Now for a shirt.”

It takes me three tries before I finally find a top that fits and isn’t too tight for work. I really do need to go shopping. I guess at least I made it sixteen weeks before needing to buy maternity clothes. Don’t know how I thought I’d make it the whole pregnancy. I tip my head back, groaning. I don’t want to. Something about shopping for maternity clothes feels daunting. But I clearly can’t go the rest of this pregnancy with my existing wardrobe. Maybe one of the local thrift stores is an option. I love thrifting, because you never know what you’re going to find. It’s like a treasure hunt. Sometimes you get lucky and find awesome stuff and sometimes you come away empty handed. I also like giving items a second life.

With a sigh, I head into the kitchen to turn on the coffee maker and find something to eat, grinning when I spot a sticky note on the counter.

Love,

Hope you have a wonderful day. See you at lunch.

XO

Bash

My heart flutters again. Am I falling for my fake husband? He makes it easy to. I tuck the note into my purse for safekeeping. Fifteen minutes later, after finishing my one cup of regular coffee I drink a day and a bowl of yogurt and fruit, I grab my stuff and head out the door.

It’s around eleven when I finally have a break between meetings and can text Bash.

Me: Lunch at twelve-thirty?

He responds almost instantly, like he was just waiting for my message, and knowing him, he probably was.

Bash: Sure. I’ll pick you up at your office? I have to run by the PT office.

My heart rate picks up. Is he hurt? I think back to the game last night. He seemed fine. Played his usual amount of time. Not that that means he’s OK, but … Before I can spiral further, another text comes through.

Bash: I’m fine. Just a little bit of tightness in my leg. I want to have Becca check it. Nothing serious. Stop worrying.

I exhale, relieved he’s okay.

Me: See you soon.

I tuck my phone away and force myself to focus on my work.