Chapter Four

"No.The last time you came with me, the poor ladies at the salon were so scared, Daria dropped her grandmother's teapot and it shattered into a million pieces."

Ry's shoulders jerk halfway up to his ears for a brief moment before he mutters, "I tried to buy her a new one."

I roll my eyes. "You know that's not the same thing." I push up the sleeve of the tent-of-the-day—aka the only maternity clothes I can wear at almost forty weeks—and run my fingers over the fluorite beads around my wrist. "Would you buy me an exact replica of my bracelet if it broke?"

He sighs, conceding my point. "No. But I don't like the idea of you going alone."

"I won't be alone. Evianna and Cara will be with me the whole time. It's only three blocks away. I'm pregnant. Not a ticking time bomb."

His jaw hardens, and a vein at his temple throbs. "That's exactly what you are." He drops to his knees in front of me, framing my belly with his hands. "Your due date is in two days. You could go into labor any time."

"Even if I do, you'll be able to reach me, soldier." I cup his cheek. "You can always reach me."

* * *

Evianna wigglesher bright red toes as she stretches in the massage chair. "God, I needed this. I hired a new CTO for Beacon Hill Technologies last month. Once she's fully up to speed, she'll be able to take a lot of work off my plate. But until then…I'm doing my job and part of hers."

"I wish we'd had time to bookmassages," Cara says and closes her eyes. "I made two hundred Pop Tarts after the breakfast rush this morning, and my shoulders are killing me."

I take a sip of herbal tea and admire my glittering purple nails. "I've only had a massage once in my life. It…didn't go well."

"How does a massage not ‘go well'?" Evianna asks.

My cheeks flush. "I had a panic attack on the table."

"Why? Did something trigger you?" She presses a button on the chair remote to turn the vibrations down and drains the last of her sparkling wine.

Though the three of us are close—almost as close as sisters now—I don't talk about my panic disorder very often. I shrug. "Nothing I know of. There isn't always a reason though. Mani-pedis are about all the pampering I can handle."

On the other side of me, Cara stifles another squeal. Apparently, she's ticklish, and the poor young woman painting her toes barely managed to escape a kick to the chin when she tried to scrub Cara's instep.

Cara runs a hand through her dark locks. "I love you, Wren, but this is my first and last pedicure."

"I know I'm one to talk," Evianna says, "but the two of you really need to learn how to relax."

I almost choke on my tea. "Says the woman who worked all morning and has been answering texts every twenty minutes."

"Only two of those were from work. The other two…well, the Five Points remodeled last month. The furniture isn't the same, and the whole place is a mess. Dax is having a hard time. Apparently housekeeping left the chair pulled out and moved everything on the bathroom counter." She shows us her phone—and the photo of their toiletries shoved into a corner behind the sink.

Despite working with Dax for years, I never stopped to think how hard it must be for him to travel. Yes, he's blind. But he navigates the world better than half the sighted people I know. Better than me most days.

Her phone buzzes again, and after a few seconds, her cheeks are almost as red as her nails.

"Evianna?" Cara asks. "Oh, my God. Is Dax…sexting you?"

"I can't think about Dax sexting. He's my boss!" I avert my eyes, pinning my gaze to one of the ceiling tiles as Evianna types out a quick response.

"Well, I could tell you what happened after the baby shower last night," she says.

"Nope. Unless it involved being able to see your feet, tie your shoes, or go more than twenty minutes without peeing. Those are the only fantasies I'm interested in right now."

Daria finishes the last coat of polish on my toes and pats my calf. "You're done, love. But wait at least ten minutes before you get up. And…" She peers up at me, narrowing her eyes like she knows something I don't. "Stay close to home on Friday. It's a new moon. I think your daughter will come then."

I gape at her. "I never said I was having a girl. Did I?"

She chuckles. "I've had five children and sixteen nieces and nephews. I can tell." Waving her hand, she motions for the teapot. "I can also tell you're dehydrated. Have more tea."

"Well, that was weird," Cara says when the three of us are alone again. "And maybe a little creepy."

"It happens everywhere. Apparently, it's a thing." The light, floral taste of the tea is comforting. Will I really have this kid in just three days?

"A thing?" Evianna swings her legs over the side of the massage chair. "What's a thing?"

"Random people thinking because you're pregnant, they can touch your belly or give you unsolicited parenting advice. Some woman in the grocery store a couple of weeks ago told me all about breastfeeding and how the only good nipple cream was made out of—well, trust me. You don't want to know."

Cara frowns. "Who the hell does that?"

"According to the internet, everyone." I drain the last of the tea and shrug. "I have a lot of downtime while I'm running code. And I don't know anyone with kids. So I signed up for a couple of pregnancy message boards."

I shouldn't feel guilty about my admission, but Evianna and Cara are my two closest friends. And I've kept this from them for…well…almost nine months.

"Ry doesn't know," I say. "About the woman at the grocery store. Don't tell him, okay? He doesn't want me going anywhere alone. Heck, he tried to come with us today. He wanted to sit in the lobby for two hours and glare at everyone who came through the doors."

"Daddy McCabe is going to be a force to be reckoned with," Evianna says with a smile.

My eyes fill with tears, and the room starts to shimmer.

"Hey," Cara says, reaching over to rest her hand on mine. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not going to lose…me…when I have the baby? Am I?"

Suddenly, I'm sobbing. Evianna and Cara's arms come around me, and all I can think is that they're going to ruin their pedicures because clearly they're not listening to Daria and keeping their toes under the little fans.

"You're not going to lose yourself," Evianna says softly. "You ran comms while hunched over the toilet with morning sickness. You wrote code waiting for the ultrasound technician. You're so hardwired to be you, nothing will ever change that."

"Fudgesicles. I'm going to be a terrible mom." Even as I say the words, I hear how ridiculous they sound, but I can't stop myself. "What if I can't find the right balance? I've stayed up for thirty-six hours working before. I can't do that with a baby. But if I don't work, people could die. Ripper and Zephyr are amazing, but I can do things they can't. And there isn't time to teach them before Friday!"

"Wren, look at me." Evianna's sharp tone is enough for me to sniffle and swipe at my cheeks. "Rip and Z are great. But you're not going to the moon. You're having a baby. Pretty sure you can still talk on the phone while breastfeeding. Or changing a diaper. You'll still be a part of the team. Just one who carries a binky and knows all the words to Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star."

"Doesn't everyone know that song?" I manage. "It's like…a classic."

We share a laugh, and a fraction of the weight I've been carrying for months lifts from my shoulders. If only my ankles felt the same relief. I miss being able to walk comfortably. Sit comfortably. Do anything comfortably.

"You're going to be fine, hon," Evianna says. "I promise."

* * *

Our flip-flops slapagainst the sidewalk. That's the problem with pedicures. You can't wear real shoes for hours—if you want the polish to last. And since I probably won't have the time—or energy—to make another salon appointment for months…I'm playing it safe.

"I need arch support," Evianna says on a sigh. "When you wear heels every day…"

"Oh, God. You're the boss. Wear what's comfortable. Heels are pure torture." I shudder at the very idea of spending my days in anything but Keds, Sketchers, or slippers. With my anxiety, Ryker and I don't go out much. We're takeout and Netflix people. Not dinner and dancing people. And I wouldn't change a thing.

Except, the baby is about to change everything. Bedtime stories, diaper changes, feedings… My chest tightens as the first stirrings of overwhelm wash over me. If I'm not careful, I'll end up having a panic attack, and I don't want to ruin such a lovely afternoon.

The traffic signal changes as we reach the curb, and I brace a hand on the small of my back. Walking isn't exactly comfortable, but standing is a hundred times worse.

A bell jingles from the florist shop to my left, and I glance at the windows full of colorful bouquets. In the reflection, a man across the street stares at us. I only notice because he isn't moving. At all. And despite the warmth of the late April day, he's dressed all in black, including a knit cap pulled all the way down to his dark sunglasses.

I'm no longer overwhelmed. I'm worried. Shivering, even with the sun shining down on us, I loop my fingers around the crook of Cara's elbow. "Can you do me a favor?"

"Anything. Well, except sign up for another pedicure." She laughs and squeezes my hand. "I love you, Wren, but my self-preservation instinct is really strong."

I pass her my phone and turn us so our back is to the guy across the street. "Take a picture of the three of us."

She frowns at me. "Wren, I can't put any pictures on social media. It's too dangerous. And you don't even like getting your picture taken."

"It's not a ‘real' selfie. There's a guy across the street watching us. I think I saw him outside the salon too. I need a photo of him."

Evianna sucks in a sharp breath and starts to turn, but I hiss at her, "Don't! If he runs, we won't have any idea what he looks like. Please. Play along."

Though they both urge me to call Ry immediately, I hold the phone up to get a good angle of the three of us. Or…I make it look that way. Because my arms are too short to get a decent shot.

After a few attempts, Cara eases the device from my hand and turns it on its side. "Smile, ladies," she calls out—a little louder than necessary. After a couple of clicks, she taps the screen again and slowly lowers the phone. "I tried to catch a video too. But the resolution might not be the best."

The light changes, the happy chirping of the walk signal at odds with the strain we're all feeling.

"We can't go back to the condo," Evianna says as we cross the street. "Call Ry. Get him to meet us somewhere."

"What about that bar on Seneca?" Cara asks. "They have a bouncer all day long. It's only a few blocks away."

"That'll be good." I dig in my purse and find my Bluetooth earbud. "Is he still back there?"

Evianna lets out a laugh and executes a truly brilliant—and graceful—three-hundred-and-sixty-degree spin. To anyone else, she looks like she's having a great time with her friends. But I can see the fear in her eyes.

"Yes. I think he's texting. But he's definitely keeping pace with us."

"Spitsnacks. Ry's going to bust a gasket."