Kiss Me in the Summer - Barbara Dunlop Page 0,30

control from chilled water to ice. You can tell by the—”

“I can figure out your ice dispenser!” I called back, checking out the controls on the front of the fridge. They were pretty self-explanatory.

“I hate this,” she said.

“I’d hate it too,” I agreed as I half-filled the glasses with ice cubes.

One can of the lemon-lime soda filled both glasses, so I put the other one back and carried the glasses into the living room.

“Do you want something to go with this?” she asked.

“You’re just itching for an excuse to get up,” I said, setting her glass down on a coaster on the wooden table beside her before taking the other armchair.

“Doctor says I can only get up if it’s necessary,” she said.

“I’m definitely not going to make it necessary for you to get up.”

“You’re no fun at all,” she said and took a sip of the soda.

“I’m not your enabler.”

“Did you bring me some work?”

“I did not.”

She let out a groan of exasperation. “The world is conspiring against me.”

“I brought you some questions,” I said, trying to sound appeasing.

She adjusted herself in the chair, straightening up. “Great. What are they?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “You sound a bit pathetic.”

“I feel pathetic. I’m bored to tears.”

“I’m no expert on twins,” I said. “But I think you might want to take this time to rest.”

“I’m all rested up. Now give it up. What’s going on in the office?”

“It’s about the cats,” I said.

“Of course it’s about the cats.” She looked thoughtful for a second. “Did I remember to say thanks?”

“You don’t need to thank me. Josh drove you to the clinic. He really took care of everything.”

“I meant for staying in town. Thanks for staying and helping out. It’s incredibly generous of you.”

“It’s not like I had anywhere else I had to be.” I preferred to skip the plethora of dogs, but I did have some free time on my hands.

“Do you know what’s happening back at your office?”

I took a moment to sip my drink. I’d been back and forth on keeping Laatz Wallingsford completely out of my mind or giving into my curiosity. “Not yet.”

“Aren’t you curious?”

“No.” I wished I wasn’t lying. I wished I had the intellectual and emotional control to forget about work altogether while I waited it out. It wasn’t like I could change anything.

“Okay, that was a lie,” she said. “I might not be some hotshot prosecutor, but I can tell a lie when I see one.”

“Guilty,” I admitted.

“How does not knowing help you?”

I heard Cecily’s voice inside my head as I answered. “If I don’t know, then I’m not fired.”

“You’re a lawyer, Laila. You know that’s not true. If you’re fired, you’re fired. If you know about it, you can make plans. If you don’t . . .” She shrugged. “Well, you’re just in limbo, worrying and being curious about how others are impacting your life. Take control, girl. It’s your destiny.” She stopped. “Wow. Sorry about that. I kind of got on a roll.”

I wasn’t sorry she’d spoken up. But that didn’t mean I was ready to deal with the cold, hard truth. “I think you have a lot of innate strength. More than most. More than me.”

“I don’t know if that’s true.” Her hand trailed to her rounded stomach. “I feel pretty vulnerable right now.”

“Are you in any pain?” I asked, regretting that the conversation had focused on me.

She shook her head. “I feel much better today.” Then she smiled. “He just kicked. Or maybe she kicked. Can you imagine how crowded it must be in there?”

I smiled and shook my head.

“How can they even find the room to wind up for a shot?” Becky stilled. “That was a big one. Want to feel?”

I hesitated. I’d never felt a baby kick before, but I didn’t know Becky all that well. It seemed overly intimate for me to put my hand on her stomach.

“You are such a chicken,” she said. Then she made a chicken noise.

“Not you too,” I said, shocked.

“Me too what?”

“Josh did that same chicken imitation.”

Becky laughed. “Well, we did grow up together—must be a Rutter’s Point thing.”

“It’s a little kid thing.”

“Come on,” she said, motioning me over. “It feels really weird.”

“You do know how to sell something.” But I rose and moved over to her. I felt privileged putting my hand on her stomach.

“Over here.” She shifted my hand.

Then I felt it, more a stretch than a kick, like a smooth little ball was running along the inside of Becky’s stomach.