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“How’s your nausea?” she asks, her sharp green eyes studying me. Her blonde hair is pulled back from her face in a simple French roll, lending to the white lab coat’s professional appearance.
During our first visit, I mentioned that the morning sickness had stopped but that lingering heartburn plagued my evenings. “It’s calming down, I think. I don’t get it every night, at least.”
Dr. Denning nods. “That’s good.”
“The ginger tea definitely helps,” I add.
She smiles knowingly. “It’s a neat trick. I’m glad it’s working.”
I grin gratefully. “Thanks for the tip.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” she reassures me.
Gabriel stands quietly beside me, his hand resting lightly on my shoulder, ever the silent sentinel who hasn’t missed an appointment yet, just in case I need him.
“Do you have any tips for my feet?” I ask. Lately, they’ve been swollen and are killing me.
Dr. Denning’s expression turns humorous as her eyes flick up toward Gabe. “A good massage every night can do wonders for the feet,” she hints. “But you’re right around the time when your feet are going to experience some discomfort, especially when you’re on your feet for long periods of time. Maybe consider getting a chair for your hours at the boutique. Try to give your feet a break whenever possible. And think about compression socks at night.”
Gabriel’s fingers knead my shoulder sympathetically.
“Any other concerns you’re having?” the doctor asks as she marks something in my chart.
I glance up to meet Gabriel’s brilliant-blue eyes. “I don’t think so…” I say questioningly.
“You want us back again in two weeks?” Gabe asks.
“Yes, I think that’s best from now until your due date. It’s better to keep an eye on the baby’s position and growth.”
Dr. Denning rises from her chair as I slide off the exam table, and we follow her to the door.
“Lisa will take care of that for you at the front desk,” she reminds us.
“Thanks again, Dr. Denning,” I say.
Heading out to the front desk, Gabriel and I stop to schedule our next appointment, setting it for the end of the day, when we can both make it more easily. Out in the parking lot, we both approach Ruby, and I slide into the passenger seat as Gabriel pulls out the car keys.
We’ve started taking the car to our appointments because Gabriel’s concerned the bike might be uncomfortable for me. Still, he prefers to drive when we’re both in the car. I think for some reason, he considers it chivalrous to drive me, which is cute.
Without a discussion, Gabriel drives us from the office parking lot and into downtown Whitfield toward the Gelateria. It’s become a bit of a tradition to get ice cream after my doctor’s visits, something we started in Blackmoor that we’ve carried into our new lives.
Gabriel pulls up to the curb outside the Gelateria, aptly named, though the cute little Italian sweets shop offers more than just Italian ice cream. They offer everything from gelato to tiramisu, cannolis, Italian butter cookies, and canestrelli.
Isabel greets us with a broad smile on her face, her curly grey flyaway hair peeping out from beneath her hat. “Afternoon, lovebirds,” she greets us cheerily.
In truth, though ice cream is our tradition after doctor’s appointments, I’ve found my sweet tooth has been going crazy with my pregnancy, and nothing cures my craving better than Isabel’s cute little shop.
“What’ll it be today?”
“We just came from a doctor’s check-up, so definitely gelato,” I say, peering into the glass display to consider what flavor I want. Everything looks so good.
“How’d it go?” she asks.
That’s something I’ve come to love about this small town. Everyone I’ve run into has been genuinely interested in the day-to-day welfare of the people who live here. Working at Honey Bee’s, I’ve learned a lot about what it means to be part of such a tight-knit community. In Blackmoor, there was always such a separation of the classes. It was large enough to accommodate the local college along with several high schools and all the old families. So even if the population wasn’t particularly large, it was more isolated and confining to whichever group a person belonged to. Here, there aren’t quite enough people for that to be.
“Looks like everything is normal,” I say with a smile. Then I order a cone with a scoop of pistachio and a scoop of chocolate gelato.
Gabriel follows my order with the mint chocolate chip and mocha ice creams.
