The air was heavy that late summer afternoon, warm and sticky, thick with the hum of bees and the scent of lavender curling through the Carlton garden. Meghan had kicked off her sandals hours ago and was lounging in the shade, one hand on her swollen belly, eyes drifting closed with each shift of breeze.
Grace sat nearby, a paperback in one hand, the other absently stroking her own bump, now unmistakably round and high. Her ankles ached, her back twinged when she moved too fast, but despite it all, she felt at peace. Tired, slow, but content.
“I can’t believe we’ve made it this far,” Grace said softly, cracking one eye open.
Meghan smiled. “About a month and a half for you.”
“And about three weeks for you, if they behave.”
Meghan laughed, but it was tight. “Let’s not jinx it.”
Grace
