Page 22 of Tied up in Knots (Gummy Bear Orgy #4)

Like the pig?

Now that everyone knows about my pregnancy the questions have started.

Thankfully I’ve had months to prepare answers for all of them.

My lie of a one-night stand is much easier to portray as reality, now that I’ve said it so many times.

Not as many times as I feared. Gossip in a small town works like that.

Spreading the news faster than an airborne virus.

I have had to clarify a few things when the game of telephone went awry. Nothing too scandalous though. Someone came up with the ridiculous story that I had been ravaged by a sea creature and was having a mutant baby. Probably one of the teenagers in town.

As anticipated, once people heard the father is an out of towner and no longer in the picture, they instantly lost interest in him.

Which has made it easier for me not having to talk about the father or characteristics the baby might have from his father, since it’s well known I don’t know anything about him.

To their knowledge. In reality I’m constantly considering if he’ll turn out to look like Warren or not.

On one hand, I hope he does because his father has many wonderful features both physically and non.

On the other hand, I worry he’ll look too much like Warren and people will begin to become suspicious.

Especially his parents. I pray to Poseidon they never notice the similarities.

Stepping into my overalls for the day I’m barely able to buckle them over my still growing stomach.

The straps are extended to their longest and straining.

I probably won’t be able to wear these ones after today again until after the baby’s born.

Shame. They’re black, white and blue tie die denim, so cute.

I pair them with a long sleeved blue thermal and oversized cream-colored fur lined flannel.

I go from hot to freezing a dozen times a day and wearing something I can remove and replace with my flashes makes my day much easier.

Walking past my mirrored dresser I stop short and stare at the post cards taped to the reflective surface.

All the postcards Warren sent me are lined up along the frame of the mirror.

California, Mexico, Guatemala, El Salvador, Costa Rica, Panama, Cuba, Jamaica, The Bahamas, Florida. So many places I’ve never been to.

Each small rectangle an image of somewhere exotic and amazing. The same message written in varying words on the back. I miss you, I’m thinking of you. Love Warren.

It’s like he’s taunting me. Each new arrival makes my heart skip and sink at the same time.

A reminder how far away he is and the unlikelihood he’ll return.

Still, I stick them to my mirror to look at them every day hoping one day he’ll send one that says he’s coming home, though I’m not going to hold my breath.

Stepping into my blue and grey Xtratuf’ s _ rubber boots that are popular in Alaska due to their durability and water proofnes s _ I roll the top down to expose the blue octopus patterned internal lining.

They’re great for this kind of weather, wet and cold.

They’re also great for on boats, lots of the fisherman wear them.

Not to mention they keep the chill off my feet but also allow for a comfortable fit with all the swelling going on.

I’m pretty sure my feet grew two sizes throughout the pregnancy.

I really hope they don’t swell anymore because I can’t afford new shoes just for the next three months.

My hair goes in my customary ponytail before I head downstairs to start work for the day.

Lauren is already there, having opened the store.

She’s been my opener lately since it takes me a little longer to get moving in the morning these days.

Sometimes I swear it takes five minutes just to extricate myself from the bed.

I roll my neck, trying to work out the kinks there. Another wonder of pregnancy, everything fucking hurts. My back, my hips, my neck, my feet. Thank goodness the end is finally in sight. Then I’ll be able to touch my toes again and have a new beautiful baby boy.

My heart skips in anticipation. After the initial shock of it wore off the happiness and elation began to settle in.

Izzy and I have had more than one happy cry over his upcoming birth.

Although we disagree on names. Izzy says it should be something as original and unique as my name and I just want it to be something kids won’t use to make fun of him in school with.

Especially since he’ll already have a hard enough time not having a father around.

As of now I have an ongoing list that I’ll choose from once he’s born and I get to see him for the first time. It’s hard to choose anything right now. Nothing fits quite right. I’ll just have to go with my gut when it’s time to put a name to paper.

Slowly waddling down the stairs I make it to the store five hours later, and head to the front counter to check in with Lauren.

“Morning Lauren. How’s everything looking today?”

She gives me a big smile and leans against the counter surveying her to-do list. “Well, we received a shipment of new releases that needs to be shelved, there’s the returned rentals that need to be inventoried, a few deliveries to make.

Also, Izzy wanted me to remind you about picking out books for the fundraiser basket for the middle school you said you would donate. ”

“Well, that’s a busy day. Alright,” I pause to consider her list and what I can do to help. Heavy lifting is out so no inventory or restocking for me. “I will prepare the donation basket and make the few deliveries.”

“You sure?” Her brows furrow and pull together.

It’s common these days. Everyone thinks I’m incapable of riding my bike now that I’m the size of a mini cooper. But it has three wheels and is very stable. Besides, I rode the snowmobile during the winter while pregnant and was fine. Though I was much smaller then.

“It’ll be fine Lauren. There’s no ice and barely any snow now, and my bike has three wheels. Besides, it’s good for me to keep active. It’s only a few deliveries, right?”

“Yeah, only two.”

“Not a problem. I’ve been doing deliveries for years. It’s just like any other day. Don’t worry so much.”

Her pinched face relaxes, and she blows out a defeated breath.

“Fine. But I’m going to be tracking you with my find a friend app.” Pointing a finger at me like I’d argue with her on this.

“I would expect nothing less.”

I only allowed Izzy, Gigi, and Lauren to track my phone with that silly app, and only after Izzy’s constant badgering about how I needed it since I lived alone. I don’t think it’s necessary but agreeing to it got her to stop pestering me.

I take the two orders and pull the books from the shelves, wrapping them in the pretty blue craft paper Lauren convinced me to use. I’ll admit it’s nice. It adds a little extra something to the customers purchases, and makes deliveries feel like I’m Santa delivering presents.

The books are safely wrapped in their protective blue paper and then inside brown paper bags with The Book Vault’s logo stamped on the side and sit snuggly in the rear basket of my bike.

My first delivery is to a regular, Mrs. Niedermeyer.

She’s on a historical romance binge lately and making her way through my entire stock of available rentals.

Her husband died a few years back and she began reading to fill the silence.

Her kids all left Homer and don’t visit as often as she’d like, so she spends a lot of time reading, gardening and unfortunately gossiping.

She’s a nice lady and I know she’s only doing it because she’s lonely, so I don’t hold it against her.

Mrs. Niedermeyer answers the door and quickly pulls me into a conversation I can’t seem to escape from. I tuck my scarf tight around my neck and her words are only slightly muffled by the earmuff headband I’m wearing. It may be spring, but spring in Alaska is almost as cold as some peoples winter.

“Have you chosen a name yet?” she asks, smiling down at my protruding belly.

“No not yet. I’m just going to let it come to me once he’s born.” I rub at my stomach affectionately and protectively.

“You know what a good name is?”

I didn’t ask but I’m sure you’re going to tell me anyway.

“Wilbur.”

“Like the pig?” I scrunch my nose, undoubtedly looking like the pig from Charlotte’s Web she apparently wants me to name my son after.

“There are plenty of others named Wilbur that have nothing to do with a pig,” she states firmly, not at all offended by my response. “It’s a lovely name.”

I’m sure it is, but not for my son it isn’t.

“I’ll consider it. Add it to the list.” Of names I will absolutely not choose.

“Wonderful. You know I know a lot of names, thanks to all my reading. I can make a list for you as well. Might have a few options on it you might not have thought of.”

I’m sure all of her choices will be ones I haven’t thought of, nor want, but it’s hard to say no to her. She looks so excited to have something to do.

“That would be great Mrs. Niedermeyer. I look forward to reading it.”

“Fantastic. I’ll get started on it right now!”

She hugs the books I just delivered to her chest and bounds back into her house, waving animatedly as she shuts the door behind her. That is going to be one long list, and she’s going to be sadly disappointed when I choose a name not on it.

I let out a long heavy sigh through my nose and make my way back to my parked bike in her driveway.

What is it about a woman having a baby on her own that makes everyone think they have to butt in and help out? Not that I don’t appreciate the help from some people, but having to deal with everyone I speak to trying to insert themselves or their expertise is exhausting.

I pull a plastic bag of pickle bites out of my pocket and munch on a few standing next to my bike. I’m pretty much always hungry and pickles are always a craving. I basically eat them all day long and always want more.

“How about I just name you Pickle?” I ask my stomach. “Seems appropriate since that’s all you ever seem to want to eat.”

My little pickle decides to give me a swift kick to my kidneys in response.

“Is that a yes or a no?” I chuckle, rubbing at the spot he just kicked.

“Do you think they’ll be just as nosey after your born?

I hope not. Probably will be though. Everyone has their opinion on things.

Vaccinations, diets, organic soaps, medicines, toys, punishments.

” I heave another sigh, this one accompanied with a low groan.

“Do you think it’s too late to become a hermit and live in a cabin in the mountains? ”

This time he doesn’t answer with a kick, just bubbly gas. Oh the joys I experience while pregnant. Uncontrollable crying and farting. Probably a good thing Warren isn’t here. All the noises, fluids, smells and unknown substances that my body produces these days is embarrassing.

I look out from Mrs. Niedermeyer’s driveway, watching the fluffy white clouds roll by and the sway of the once again greening trees in the breeze. It’s so beautiful here. The entire reason most people live here in the first place. The fresh air and nature.

I mean I know we’re basically disconnected from the rest of the lower forty-eight, or how we refer to the rest of America.

We’re different up here on our own. Not as mainstreamed into everything, but we like it that way.

I like it that way. I can only hope my son does too and doesn’t one day decide he wants to leave like his father did.

Though I would never stop him, just like I didn’t stop Warren.

Some people’s wanderlust is too great to suppress. Others like me don’t even have any.

There are so many unknowns in my future. The one known is that I will love my son, and I will not let him be treated like Warren was. He’ll have a happy childhood, just like I did, and like Warren deserved.

“Guess we should get going huh?” I ask to my stomach, rubbing it gently in small circles. “One more delivery to make before we go back to the shop. Then I can get you something more than pickle bites.”

This time he kicks right where my hand rests on my stomach and I smile. We’ll be alright. No matter what.