Charlie: At the shop.
Briar: I’m leaving my place now to pick up Birdie. We’ll be there soon.
Wren: FaceTime me when you get there.
God, I love these girls.
I’m usually the one jumping headfirst into whatever misadventure Birdie ropes us into, but now the roles are reversed, and I’m the one out of my depth. Unlike our rescue missions, I don’t have a backup plan or exit strategy.
I stretch out on the loveseat against the wall by the register. Larger furniture pieces tend to move quickly, but I’ve decided tokeep this one for now. It’s the perfect nap spot, and I suspect I’ll be using it often in the foreseeable future.
I swear I’ve just shut my eyes when the bell above the door jingles, and I crack one open to see Briar and Birdie step inside.
Briar enters first, her long brown hair tied back in a ponytail, a few loose tendrils framing her face. Her tanned skin glows from countless hours in the sun, and her brown eyes sweep the shop, likely checking for any customers.
Birdie follows, her blond hair falling in loose curls, a floral bandanna tied around her head. She’s wearing pink overalls paired with white tennis shoes, a bold choice for someone who spends her days wrangling dirt-covered animals.
“Charlie, where are you?” Briar calls out as she slips between an antique wardrobe and a glass-front curio cabinet.
“She’d better not be moving furniture by herself again,” Birdie chimes in.
Last week, I was trying to move a heavy dresser by myself when it tipped over onto a desk. Thankfully, I ducked out of the way just in time, but I ended up stuck, wedged in the corner of the shop, and had to call the fire department for a rescue. It was the most exciting thing this town’s ever seen since Birdie was arrested forallegedlystealing a donkey and a cow from the county fair.
I figured everyone would be relieved I got out unscathed, but that didn’t stop the fire chief from citing me for blocked exit routes and cluttered walkways. I’m assuming he hasn’t been to Helen’s bookshop in the past decade. It’s a maze of stacked books and narrow paths, practically a fire hazard waiting to happen. At least my place has a direct route to the register, provided you don’t mind brushing past overstuffed clothing racks and an antique grandfather clock on the way there.
“What on earth… are you okay?” Birdie asks when they reach me, finding me propped up on one elbow on the couch.
“I’ve decided to stay horizontal until further notice,” I declare, my head falling back onto the armrest. “Nobody told me baking a baby would be this exhausting.”
Birdie blinks at me. “Did you just say baking a baby?”
“What else am I supposed to call it? I’m literally an incubator until the thing is fully cooked.”
Briar holds out a cup with the Lasso & Latte logo on it. “You could definitely use this.”
I push myself upright and take it from her. “Have I mentioned how pretty you both look today?” I lift the drink to my lips, stopping short when I notice the order scribbled on the side. “Please tell me this isn’t sugar-free.”
Briar shrugs. “Okay, we won’t tell you.”
I toss my free hand in the air. “Oh, come on. I share life-changing news, and you still bring me a drink that should be banned based on principle. What’s a girl gotta do to get a sugar-packed latte around here?”
“Yesterday you said your numbers have been all over the place, so we figured the sugar-free option was the safest choice to avoid another spike,” Birdie explains, looking entirely too smug about this.
She might be the youngest in our friend group, but that hasn’t stopped her from mothering everyone. And as much as I’d like to be irritated, her heart is in the right place, and I’m grateful she’s watching out for me. I’m especially glad she didn’t try to ban caffeine altogether. I know I’ll have to reduce my daily intake, but there’s zero chance I’m quitting cold turkey.
Briar perches on the armrest beside me and calls Wren.
A moment later, Wren’s face appears on the screen, brows pinched with worry. “Are you at the shop? How is she holding up?”
“Found her sprawled out on the couch, and she’s cranky about the lack of sugar in her latte, but she’ll survive,” Briar reports with a smug grin.
I lean over, sticking my head into the camera’s view. “She’sright here, and very much still alive even though I’m currently subletting my uterus.”
Wren leans closer to the camera, her dark curls falling in loose ringlets around her face. “You’re really pregnant, huh? How’d that happen?”
I place my free hand behind my head and recline in my seat. “I may or may not have had a questionable lapse in judgment the night of Birdie’s wedding and miscalculated the importance of a couple of missed birth control pills.”
“So… who’s the baby daddy?” Briar presses.
