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“’Kay, thank you. You’re a lifesaver. Oh, and save me some fries?”
“Thought they weren’t even real food.”
“Yeah, but Ilikenon-real food,” Jazz said, clicking off on Harper’s laughter.
She tossed her cell in her purse and eyed the baby mecca in front of her. Mrs. Duffy was due to arrive any minute, and she couldn’t help smoothing down her top every five seconds to make sure she looked presentable. She’d taken care not to wear denim shorts that were too short, which was kind of a loss because her ass looked particularly nice today. But Gray wasn’t around to see it anyway. He was off working as usual, collaborating with his new buddies The Grunge.
Since she’d just mentioned their potential family of eight, she couldn’t really begrudge him the long hours he spent away writing songs and sitting in with up-and-coming bands. Their own band, Oblivion, was just about to start their tour, and now was as good a time as any for them to be separated because soon they’d be living in each other’s pockets again.
She couldn’t wait.
The chime that signaled a text from Gray made her grin and scramble for her phone.
What are you buying my baby?
See, he must’ve known she was having a mini panic attack about shopping with his mom. She was amazed he’d even remembered. He’d been a little busy and scattered lately, understandably so. The man was writing his very fine buns off, just so he could provide for her and the baby. Not that she wasn’t doing plenty of providing too, drumming for Oblivion. But she loved him for going above and beyond.
She smiled and typed back a quick response while keeping one eye on the front door of the shop. Mrs. Duffy never tolerated lateness. Part and parcel of being rich enough that you made people wait, not vice versa, Jazz supposed.
Nothing yet but I’m abt to feed the babeh salty, delish fries.
She hoped, if Harper ever showed.
Fries? That’s not a healthy lunch.
She rolled her eyes at him. He was militant about making sure she was eating well. Mostly militant, unless she distracted him with sexual favors.
Speaking of, she’d taken a new selfie that morning before she’d pulled on her maternity top. If her butt was enjoying the benefits of pregnancy, her boobs were doing nightly victory laps. She hadn’t taken a nude pic, just semi.
Hopefully it was dirty enough to get his mind off fries and onto her body.
She scrolled through her pictures and after finding the one she was looking for, hit send. She glanced up at the blur of lemon yellow striding past her peripheral vision and yelped as she tossed her cell in her bag.
Dammit, she would not be late, especially when she’d been early.
Shoving her sunglasses on top of her head, she grabbed her car keys, threw them in her purse and climbed out of the car. It took some effort, but she jogged fast enough across the lot to reach the front door of the store at the same time as Mrs. Duffy.
“Hi there,” she said brightly, trying not to pant. She’d never been a queen of physical fitness, and this definitely wasn’t her most shining hour. Doing her mommy yoga classes twice a week strained her to the max, for God’s sake. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”
“Why are you sweating and out of breath, Jasmine?” Mrs. Duffy peered at her. “Are you ill?”
Jazz’s smile faltered. Evidently, it wasn’t obvious that she had just booked across the parking lot. “Nope, not ill. I’m healthy as can be.”
“You’re certainly gaining weight as you should. Why, you look bigger than the last time I saw you.”
Here we go.In the years since Jazz had lived with her foster mother, Mrs. Duffy obviously hadn’t lost her tendency to criticize or to think things should be done a certain way. But Jazz refused to allow this shopping trip to get off on the wrong foot. Harper would be there soon, and she’d provide perfect deflection.
In the meantime, Jazz would keep smiling. Like an idiot.
“It’s been a month and I’m almost five months pregnant,” Jazz said through gritted teeth. She wasn’t sure it still counted as a smile but she was trying, dammit. “My doctor says I’m exactly where I should be. In fact, she suggested I gain a few pounds.”
Mrs. Duffy frowned. “Where?”
The screech of brakes nearby made Jazz shift toward the parking lot.Please be Harper. Please be Harper.At the sight of her best friend’s white catering truck, Jazz clapped her hands like a seal. “Oh yay, look who’s here.”
Mrs. Duffy’s expression turned suspicious and she tightened her grip on her handbag. “Who?”
Harper climbed out of the van and meandered over to them, looking daisy-fresh in spite of the late May heat. Her blond ponytail bounced with each step and the brightness of her smile made Jazz’s feel dim.
