Clara dragged herself into the house, the weight of the day’s stress still pressing heavily on her shoulders. Her hair was a mess, her heels dangling from one hand, and all she wanted was a warm bath and a long nap. But the moment she stepped into the living room, the smell of spicy chicken hit her.
There sat Natasha, sinking her teeth gleefully into a steaming pack of fried chicken, her round belly poking through the soft fabric of her floral maternity dress. Crumbs danced around her lips, and her eyes sparkled with satisfaction.
"Hey Clara," Natasha called with a mischievous grin, a drumstick midair. "Care to join the feast?"
Clara let out a half-laugh, half-groan. "No carry on. Judging from your face, that one pack won’t even stand a chance with you."
Natasha chuckled, licking sauce
