A future that included growing their brand and their businesses. Jordan wanted to branch out and open gyms in other parts of the city, and she had dreams of doing the same with her bookstore. They wanted to travel and share their More Than Just a Number philosophy all over the world. Yes, it would be a lot of work, but they’d be in it together. CityBeat’s sweethearts. Partners. A team. A perfect pair.
The idea of turning their duet into a trio hadn’t even popped up.
Like some abstract concept, she’d wanted to become a mother—someday.
That someday, however, happened to be the day after they’d returned from their honeymoon.
She fixed her beauty queen smile to her face and turned to the men sitting across from them. “Jordan and I have some news.”
“What kind of news?” Hector asked, his knee bouncing like a kid ready for recess.
It was now or never. Whatever plans CityBeat had in the works, they’d either be put on hold indefinitely or go down the drain.
“The kind of news that wets diapers,” she answered, waiting for Bobby, Hector, and Barry to go nuts.
“Is my Aunt Gertrude coming to town? And if she was, how would you know that, Georgie?” Barry asked wide-eyed.
“No, I don’t know anything about your Aunt Gertrude. I’m trying to tell you all that I’m pregnant.”
The men sat there, as still as statues, until Bobby and Barry’s shoulder’s slumped, and Hector broke out into an ear to ear grin.
“Two somebodies owe me a hot fudge sundae,” Hector chimed, snapping his fingers in a triumphant set of clicks.
“What do hot fudge sundaes have to do with us having a baby?” Jordan asked.
“It has to do with a bet I won,” Hector answered with another smart snap.
She stared at the men. This could not be a pregnancy fog or mirage or whatever Dr. Beaver said women with child experienced. She was eighty-five percent sure this was not how people usually responded to a pregnancy announcement.
“A bet about what?” She needed some damn clarification.
Hector leaned forward. “You, Georgie! I bet Barry and Bobby a hot fudge sundae that you were knocked up.”
“When?” she said with as much indignance as she could muster.
“At your wedding.”
She reared back, her mouth hanging open.
“You thought Georgie was pregnant at our wedding?” Jordan sputtered. “I didn’t put it together until the end of our honeymoon.”
“How far along are you, honey?” Hector asked.
“Almost eight weeks,” she answered, unable to believe how many people got a pregnancy vibe off her when she’d been oblivious—and all of them uterus-less men!
Hector clapped his hands. “I was right! I’m the pregnancy whisperer!”
Barry stared at his cell phone. “Sorry, boss. Somebody already claimed that title.”
Hector’s knee was back to bouncing. “Fine! I’m the…baby sleuther,” he said with a dramatic baby sleuthing edge.
“You’re safe with that one, and if you don’t mind, I’m going to send a quick email to my aunt while she’s on my mind—just to make sure she doesn’t have any trips planned to come to Denver. She snores, too,” Barry replied, gaze fixed to his phone.
Georgie shared a look with her husband, who shrugged. What do you say to a guy who disclosed that his aunt wets herself and snores? Hallmark sure as hell didn’t have a sympathy card for it, and her trifecta had nothing, her fictional friends cringing at the thought.
Luckily, they didn’t have to address the afflicted aunt.
“Bobby! We’re going to be fairy godfathers!” Hector exclaimed and hugged his husband.
Diaper-wearing aunts, fairy godfathers, baby sleuthing, and hot fudge sundaes?
Georgie leaned in toward Jordan. “Am I having a pregnancy delusion?”
“No, babe. They seem genuinely happy. I don’t get it either.”
“You’re not upset or disappointed?” she asked the men.
“Are you kidding! Under the circumstances, this is the best news!” Bobby answered.
The circumstances?
“You understand that means Georgie and I can’t jump off of cliffs while holding hands or guzzle local ale in matching beer steins,” Jordan said, sharing a perplexed look with her.
“All the plans and sponsorships will have to be canceled. I’m due in June,” she added.
“Not canceled, amended,” Hector replied with a devious little glint in his eyes.
“Amended to what?” Jordan asked.
Hector steepled his fingers as a contemplative crease formed on his brow. “Barry, have they arrived?”
They?
What was Hector talking about?
The CityBeat producer checked his phone. “Yep, they’re here.”
“Tell them what’s going on and ask them to join us.”
“Will do!” Barry replied, hammering out a text.
Georgie looked around. Were there more people watching them?
“Who are you talking about?” she shot back.
Barry pocketed his phone and stood, but Hector raised his hand, ushering him to sit.
“Hold on, one hot knocked-up second!” Hector said, doing a yoga-thing with his hands, drawing his index finger and thumb together in a mystical okay gesture.
“Now, Georgie, you know the psychic energist shared that I have a gift. I know things. Spiritual things. Energetic things,” he whispered into the air.
Sweet Jesus!
She’d been grateful to have her mother, Hector, and Bobby occupied and out of her hair when their wedding planner sent them to a psychic energist, who deemed them enlightened, then assigned the trio the important job of reading the spiritual energy of wedding favors.
But she’d never considered the ramifications or ripple effect of their newfound skill set.
At least Bobby seemed to have realized their psychic abilities mounted up to supernatural silliness. Unfortunately, that insight hadn’t dawned on his husband.
Hector looked ready to continue talking of otherworldly things when his eyebrows jumped to his hairline. “Wait! Have you told your mother and Howard about the baby?”
Oh, crap!
“Not yet. We just confirmed the pregnancy with the doctor this morning,” Jordan answered.
And there it was—again, the question of when they would tell her mother.
How would she handle spilling the beans? The minute her mom found out she was going to be a grandmother, she’d visit the dermatologist for a few Botox hits and then, depending on which Lorraine Vanderdinkle personality showed up, it would either be Mrs. Namaste Vanderdinkle, let’s chant and light some candles, or socialite Lorraine, who’d be all about designer baby this and designer baby that.
Either version, she wasn’t up for it. Not yet. Not when she hadn’t fully wrapped her mind around becoming a mother.
No, she’d hold off telling her parents. People did that. They waited, didn’t they? Plus, her mother and Howard were probably very busy meditating and measuring the psychic energy of mini Buddhas and elephant figurines. When she and Jordan were ready, they’d call her stepfather’s office and send word. It bought them a little time.
Georgie swallowed hard. “My mother and Howard are in India, honing their psychic skills at a retreat for the next several months, but we wanted to wait before we told them.”