I love it when she’s in a feisty mood, when she’s all hot and ... clever. I love her hair down, her scattered hair ties, and when she has her glasses on ... ah-mazing! She can be my demanding boss anytime.
“Are you saying you work in finance for the love of it, not for the money?” I parry.
“I don’t know whether you’ve noticed, but I’m not working anywhere right now.” She half stands and reaches across the small table toward my whiskey glass. “Can I just ... sniff it?”
“Sure.” I beat her to it, passing it over, relishing the brush of our fingertips like this is some Regency romance.One that’s not fade to black, please.“Any particular reason?”
She gives a short inhale. “Maybe a weird craving.”
“Did you have any of those? They happen earlier in the pregnancy, right?”
She nods. “Just for a few days. Pickles and ice cream. Together.” With one last sniff, she passes my glass back, sliding it back across the table.
“What do you think?”
“Smells like malt and wood.”
“Oak. From the barrels.”
“And something sweet.”
“But you don’t like the taste?”
“Ask me again. After.” Another tentative touch to her stomach as our gazes hold, and in the silence, I feel every beat of my heart. “So. Work.” Her gaze darts away. “Let me live vicariously.”
“Ah, you’ll be back at it soon enough.”
“I don’t know. Do you know many mothers in hedge funds?”
I open my hands:No idea. My only interest is the mother-to-be sitting in front of me.
The one I’d like to eventually call my wife-to-be.
“I loved my job, and I was fucking good at it. What are you smiling about?”
I sit forward, putting my elbow to the table as I rub my hand across my jaw. “Do you know when you curse or say something ... bad, for want of a better word, you put your hands to your stomach? Like you’re covering Matt Junior’s ears.”
She frowns. “I don’t—do I?”
“It’s adorable.”
“You think? Maybe you’re just strange.”
“The word you’re looking for isenchanted.”
“Enchanted,” she repeats, sliding me a doubtful look.
“Like magic.”
She lowers her eyes, her lashes veiling her thoughts. But I hope she’s remembering a conversation about magic and spontaneity. And about disappearing body parts.
“You were saying?” I prompt. “About work?”
“Just that I’m looking forward to being a mother, but I just ...” With a sigh, she lifts her shoulders and lets them fall. “I’m worried, I guess.”
“I think that’s entirely natural. I mean, I get moments ofMy God, what happens if I drop him on his head?”
“At least you’ve held a baby,” she mutters.
