Chapter One
Cami
Five months later-
“Oh, that’s simply precious! We must get that one, too!”
Watching my mom tear through the racks of baby clothes was almost comical. Glancing at my overloaded cart, I suddenly realized she was a grandmother gone wild. “Mom, I think we’ve got plenty of things here for Peanut. There’s no way he could possibly wear all this stuff before he outgrows it.”
“Sweetheart, babies soil their clothes multiple times a day. Between diaper changes and spitting up, you can never have enough things for your little one to wear. Besides, half the stuff in that cart is bedding. It looks way worse than it is.” She continued to browse through the baby aisle. “Oh! Look at these cute diaper bags! Let’s get you some of those.”
“I still have three and a half months until I deliver. I think we have plenty of time to get Peanut’s room ready; and really, one diaper bag should be plenty.” I couldn’t help smiling at her, though. Dylan and I could easily afford all this stuff, but my mom insisted that it was her right, and duty, to help out. She was so extremely excited there was no possible way I could tell her no. Besides, I didn’t get to spend time with her nearly as often as I would have liked, and I missed her.
“That’s another thing. Have you and Dylan come any closer to picking out a name for the baby? You can’t call him Peanut forever.”
I sighed. “We are trying to find something we both like. So far we are leaning toward Brandt or Weston as the middle names. We thought it would be nice to pay tribute to one of our dads.”
“I’m sure either of them would absolutely love that.” My mom smiled. “Maybe someday we’ll get a sweet Cecily or Connie after us moms.”
“I’m sure there’s a very good possibility of that happening.” Slipping my arm around her shoulders, I gave her a squeeze.
“Have you and Dylan decided how many kids you want to have?”
“No, not really. I think we’ll play it by ear. We’re both from small families though, so that’s what we are used to. I could easily see us having two. Of course, if my birth control doesn’t work right, like this time, we could end up with a whole lot more than that!”
Mom laughed heartily and even blushed a bit. “I don’t think it’s escaped anyone’s notice that Dylan can’t keep his hands off you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man so in love before.”
“Not even Dad?” I asked, surprised by her comment.
“Oh, your dad thinks the world of me, and he loves me a lot, but Dylan, well, he just burns with a fire you just don’t see in most men. He’s pretty romantic, too. I thought some of that might fade after your first year of marriage, but I was wrong. If anything, he seems even more crazy about you.”
“I guess I got lucky; but I feel the same about him. I love him so much.” I smiled, letting my mind drift to memories of romantic moments Dylan and I shared together– long evening walks hand in hand, water skiing and picnicking together at the lake, driving over the border into Mexico for a day of shopping, laying in each other’s arms after making love. It was hard to believe we’d already been married over two years, now. My pulse still accelerated every time he walked into the room.
“You’re both lucky. Just a couple of great kids.” Mom’s voice broke into my thoughts and I realized she was leaving me behind as I’d daydreamed about Hunter. Tears welled in my eyes when I realized I’d called him by his alias. He was truly Dylan to me now, but Hunter was the name of the man I’d fallen in love with—the undercover cop who’d posed as a student at my high school. It just fit him so naturally. Sometimes I missed calling him that.
“Maybe I should name the baby Hunter,” I said softly, feeling the tears streak down my cheeks.
My mom turned to stare at me, shocked. “Are you crying? In the middle of Baby Town?”
I started laughing and I walked toward her. “I can’t help it. It’s these dang hormones. I swear they’re going to kill me. I cry about everything, commercials, books, television shows, the State of the union address.”
“Oh, sweetie. All of America was crying over that!” She pursed her lips together and waved a hand to dismiss the subject. I laughed harder over the symbolic gesture indicative of her conservative nature.
“How about forgetfulness?” I asked, contemplating all the crazy changes I’d experienced so far. “Does pregnancy cause that?”
She chuckled. “It can. Some people call it “Momnesia.” They attribute it to a surge of hormones, lack of sleep, and multitasking. Have you been getting enough rest?”