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I wasn’t sure which was worse, him coming back to the Cove, or him never showing his face again. At least his absence meant I could push thoughts of him out of my brain and concentrate on the things I could control.
Doctor’s appointments and my ice cream truck.
I stuffed my phone into the front pocket of my overalls. I was trying out one of the shirts for Rolling Cones and it was too freaking small. I didn’t have any other shirts that were clean and actually fit because I was still in denial that my clothes were too tight.
And I had a shift at the diner that afternoon. Those shirts didn’t fit either. Neither did my pants. The little button extender trick wasn’t working anymore, and Kinleigh had let my last few pairs out as far as possible.
I had new ones on order.
For now, I had the trusty OshKosh B’gosh looking overalls that made me look like a damn toddler. But they were roomy. I looked down at the slight swell pushing at the denim. At least they were roomy for now. I’d probably have to get a new pair of these as well.
Or you could get maternity clothes.
No.
All the things I’d looked at were either a summer tent or tight on purpose which showed off every new bump and hump in my repertoire. I was not one of those yoga moms who barely looked pregnant. Or adorable like Zoe.
I dragged my hand against my cheeks and groaned. Stupid tears on top off it all.
Nope, I was curving everywhere, due to a little extra ice cream consumption. I’d already busted out of two new bras, dammit.
“There you are.”
I turned at Kinleigh’s voice. “Hey. What ar
e you doing out here? Don’t you have a shipment coming in?”
She caught up to me on the sidewalk. “I’m not sure how you can outwalk me with that cute little waddle.”
“Shut up.”
She slid her arm through mine. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I’d called her after Rory left last night and had imbibed another pint of Mintnight in Paris—my new flavor of mint with a dark chocolate swirl—with her at the store. I ate, she mended a new dress she’d bought on eBay.
“Uh huh. That’s why your hair isn’t washed?”
“I don’t wash it every day.” I’d create my own landfill with shampoo bottles if I did that. Long, thick hair wasn’t easy to maintain. However, she was correct I hadn’t gotten into the shower. I’d finally dozed off around the time of birds started chirping this morning.
Could I call it training for the sleepless nights coming my way with the baby?
Probably not.
She didn’t answer. In true Kinleigh fashion, she waited me out. I blew out a breath. “I’m fine, just irritable.”
“You should be. That asshat showed up and totally acted like a punk.”
I swallowed a laugh. “A punk? Really?”
“Shut up. You know what I mean.” She laced her fingers with mine. “I’m just worried about you.”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s what you always say.”
“I’m fat.”
“You are not. You barely have a baby bump. If you looked at you from the back, you wouldn’t even know you were preggers.”
