“What?” Joey cranks his neck around to stare at her. “I’m just asking. I’m secure, bitch. I know I smell fantastic in my own fragrance.”
“Excuse me? Shouldn’t you be manning the front, bitch?” Dylan affronts. “Don’t piss me off, Joey. My blood pressure is already off the fucking charts lately.”
“Is it?” I ask, dropping my gaze to the top of her protruding belly.
Dylan lets out a rushed breath, then gathers her hair off her neck and secures it into a messy pony. Juls and Joey loom closer. “Yes. I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. Reese bought one of those home blood pressure monitors the other day when I felt really anxious. We’ve been taking it every night. It’s pretty elevated.”
“Other than that, do you feel okay?” Joey asks, rubbing Dylan’s back and shoulders. “Nothing’s going on with the baby?”
“No. I feel fine. Enormous and constantly sweaty, but fine.” She drops her head back and smiles at him. “Thanks. That feels really good.”
“Anytime, cupcake.”
“Women having elevated blood pressure when they’re pregnant is common,” Juls says. “It’s probably just something you need to keep an eye on. Maybe try and stay off your feet as much as possible.”
Dylan closes her eyes. “That’s what I’m worried about,” she murmurs, rolling her head to the side as Joey moves up to her neck.
Jesus. I can’t imagine Dylan staying off her feet any more than she already does. She’s always planted on a stool back here, and I can tell it drives her crazy. She wants to be up, running her business. I get that. She’s a very proud woman.
Juls reaches across the table and squeezes Dylan’s hand. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, sweets.”
Dylan smiles, her eyes remaining closed.
Turning her attention on me, Juls walks around the worktop to stand closer. “I see you survived camping.”
I roll my eyes. “Barely. Some tick nearly took me out.”
She gasps appallingly. “Oh, gross. See? That’s why I always shoot down Ian’s weekend retreat ideas. I’m not picking ticks off the kids.”
Dylan and Joey both start giggling. I pinch my lips together, fighting my own amusement at the idea of Ian roughing it as Juls looks across the worktop at the two of them.
“Something funny?” she asks, hands flying to her hips.
Joey moves to stand beside Dylan. “Ian wants to spend the weekend outdoors? Where in the world will he plug in his hairdryer?”
Wow. He took the words right out of my mouth.
Dylan’s eyes go round, her cheeks lifting.
Juls glares around the room, remaining silent, seemingly pissed, until her shoulders start shaking and she covers her mouth. “I know. God, I know,” she giggles, shaking her head. “He would be so miserable. I don’t know why he keeps suggesting it. My man is crazy high maintenance, but I don’t care. He’s so sexy, isn’t he?”
“No comment. We’re practically related.” I shuffle over to the shelf to grab some cupcake liners.
Juls glances down at her watch. “Oo, I gotta go. Hey, dinner this Friday, right?”
I give her a thumbs up.
She quickly says her goodbyes, bending down to speak softly to Dylan’s belly before she slips out the front door. I grab the two mixers and set them on the worktop. The bakery officially opens, and Joey disappears upfront, while Dylan slides some of the ingredients in front of her and begins making her own batch of cupcakes.
As my batter is mixing, I hit the button on my phone and light up my screen again. It’s possible that my text alert function is on the fritz. Maybe I missed something from Mason.
I note the time, and the pink glittered wallpaper set for my lock screen.
No messages.
I check the ring volume before pushing my phone aside and focusing on work.
At least until the cupcakes go in the oven.
Strolling up front after cleaning up the mess, I stand at the window and peer across the street, standing on my toes to see above the occasional car. I can feel Joey’s eyes on me.
“I’m surprised he hasn’t stopped in yet,” he proclaims, echoing my exact thoughts.
I chew on my thumb nail, jerking my shoulder as I strain to see through his large studio window. The distance and projection of the sun make that impossible. His entire studio front is washed out by the glare.
“He canceled classes so we could go camping. Maybe he’s squeezing them all in today to make up for it. He texted me earlier.”
And it was weird.
I push that thought out of my head.
It wasn’t weird, he was busy. He’s allowed to be busy.
He’s just really fucking busy.
I repeat this same rational justification for Mason’s nonexistence today as the hours pass. I repeat it so much that it seems to transfer into my own reality.
After the cupcake order is picked up, a frantic mother rushes into the shop in tears because she forgot to order her son’s birthday cake last week. She needs it by five-thirty tonight for his party. Doable, until the woman explains what exactly her son is requesting for his fourth birthday.