Emma Cartwright threw her skirt on the bed, frustrated and ready to cry. It landed on the top of a towering pile of clothes that included jeans, dresses, jackets with buttons… and now her very last skirt.
“Hey, angel.”
She turned, delighted to have found a target for her wardrobe-induced meltdown.
“You,” she hissed.
Dean Jessop stood with a cup of coffee in his hand, and blinked at the rage in Emma’s voice.
“Me what?” he said cautiously.
“You did this to me. This is all your fault.”
“What did I do? What’s my fault?”
“This!” She gestured at the pile of discarded clothing. “Nothing fits me!”
“Ah.” Understanding dawned in his mint-green eyes. “Junior’s getting big, huh?”
Emma stared down at her stomach. OK, logically she knew that she was being ridiculous. She knew that she should
