so ready to meet her
baby.
They still didn’t
know the gender, nor had they agreed on a name for a girl. They had
tossed around a myriad of options for boys, from Alex to Ethan to
Daniel, and even to simple and straightforward names like Tom and
Jake. Finally, they had settled on Ben for a boy, as they both liked
the simplicity and classiness of that name. But when it came to
girls’ names? They were oil and water. Julia preferred names with a
certain elegance to them, like Elizabeth or Charlotte, while her
husband favored a more modern flare, like Hayley or Bailey or Phoebe.
As she spat out her
toothpaste, she tested the names again in her head.
Then she doubled over
as Baby Nichols administered a whopping kick to her massive
midsection.
She raced back into the
bedroom.
Wait.
Make that waddled. “I
think it might be happening,” she said, her eyes wider than
saucers, hope blossoming like a massive balloon, as she clasped both
hands on her belly.
Dropping the book he’d
been reading, Clay sat up straight in bed. Placed a hand on her
belly. “Should we go to the hospital right now?” he asked, a
touch of nerves in his voice, but also that calm reassurance that she
was used to from her strong, sturdy man.
“Let’s just give it
a few minutes to make sure these are real contractions,” she said,
perching on the edge of the bed. She was wearing only a flowy tank
top and underwear.
“I’ll get ready as
you time them.” Clay jumped out of bed, pulled on boxer briefs,
jeans and a T-shirt, and grabbed the bag for the hospital.
But ten minutes later,
her belly was quiet as a library. Baby Nichols appeared to be
snoozing soundly.
Julia sighed heavily.
“Didn’t work,” she said and she settled into bed in the dark of
the night. A breeze drifted into their Greenwich Village apartment,
the same one she’d moved into a few years ago when she showed up
and surprised him, accepting his invitation to move all the way
across the country and start a life with him. It was the best
decision she’d ever made. Well, besides the decision to spend an
evening with him after closing time in her bar — that fateful night
ignited this passionate and everlasting love.
“Can you blame the
baby?” Clay asked softly, as he rubbed a hand on her stomach. “Must
be nice inside there.”
She swatted him
playfully, then fell asleep in his arms.
CHAPTER THREE
Julia had started
maternity leave from Speakeasy two weeks ago, but the sluggish pace
of the final days of her pregnancy sent her back to the bar she
partially owned for an evening to visit with some of her coworkers.
She nursed an ice tea and chatted with her friend Danya, who served
up a Long Distance Lover, one of Julia’s popular drinks, to a new
customer.
Julia checked her
watch, and saw that it was near ten. Since Clay had a late dinner
with a client, he’d said he’d stop by on his way home so they
could share a cab downtown. As she looked to the door, eager for the
familiar sight of her husband, Danya motioned for her to come closer.
“Can you cover for me for two minutes? The other gal is in the
stockroom, and I have to run to the ladies room,” she said.
“Absolutely. Shoo,”
Julia said, grateful to be busy. After hustling behind the bar, she
served a few quick drinks to the remaining customers, loving being in
her element. As she poured a vodka over ice, she heard a voice this
still sent shivers up her spine.
“I’ll have
whatever’s on tap.”
She turned around to
look in the gorgeous brown eyes of her handsome husband, as he
recited the first words he ever said to her the night she met him at
Cubic Z in San Francisco.
She raised her
eyebrows, a nod of recognition to their shared moment at a bar years
ago. Then she gave it back to him, as she poured him a beer from the
tap, just like she did that first night. “When it comes right down
to it, a man should drink what the bartender gives him,” she said,
sliding a glass across the bar.
She