Rolling out of bed, I scowl at the alarm clock, its beep-beep-beep an annoying reminder of all the things I need to do today. I’m opening the boutique, and Devon comes in to cover the afternoon shift so I can hole up in my office to place an order for our next shipment before she closes down.

The spring lines are in full swing, and I’m already looking for this summer’s lines, knowing that’s another of the big tourist seasons. May through August pays for September through November, when the ski season starts around here. Just not enough fall foliage, I guess. Too many pine trees, even if they smell great.

Mentally running through the list of clothes I’ve already selected, I try to decide what bonus pieces I want to order as well.

One of the major ways I can add to my bottom line and provide exceptional customer service is in not only providing the one piece a customer is looking for, but in providing an entire ensemble, from dress to jewelry to shoes to jacket. The difference between ‘oh, that’s nice’ and ‘holy shit, I gotta get me one of those!’ often comes down to these little accessories. Those detail pieces are what I need to determine this afternoon to finalize the order.

Finishing up my mental prep as I brush my teeth, I slip on a slim-fit cotton dress that hugs my curves and highlights my baby belly. Amelia’s really far too big to call her a ‘bump’ any longer. While the mornings and evenings are still cold around here, days are nice and the shop can get really warm. Devon has insisted on keeping the shop at exactly the temperature that Ana’s told her is perfect for me. Ah, well, better to be over-loved than under, I guess.

Turning sideways to check myself in the mirror, I really am stunned by how huge I’ve gotten. I always thought the expression ‘she swallowed a basketball’ was funny, but when it’s your own body stretched, it’s shockingly odd to see yourself that way. I’m thankful that most of my pregnancy weight seems to be contained to my belly, breasts, and if I’m honest, my butt, and if the mirror isn’t lying, I look good—glowing, healthy and happy. Especially my ass. I’m gonna have to figure out how to keep that cushion for the pushing after Amelia is born. Eat your heart out, Kardashian family!

Slipping on low-heel booties that will be comfortable all day, I decide to just grab dry toast and decaf coffee on my way out the door. My stomach is a little upset and I don’t know if it’s from Amelia dancing inside me all night or because I miss Nic so much. Probably both. Amelia seems to get antsy when Nic’s not around. She’s gonna be a total Daddy’s girl for sure.

Unlocking the boutique, I get to work straightening racks, putting away the few things left in the dressing room area before deciding that the mannequins up front need new outfits. With the change in weather, it’s time for a new series up front.

This is one of my favorite parts of my job, creating a look that is eye-catching and interesting to get folks to stop in and buy the outfit I’d put together. Every time that happens, it feels like a pat on the back for creating a look that someone wants to actually wear on their body for their daily life.

By the time noon rolls around, I’ve helped several customers and selected the mannequin outfits, trying to discreetly wrestle the clothes onto the unhelpful forms while there’s no one in the shop but me. If anyone can ever make a mannequin that doesn’t make you half rip a seam getting a blouse on, I’ll kiss them.

“Come on, you son of a bitch—” I grunt as I wrestle with a light pink blouse that’s going to be part of a set inspired by Amelia, who seems intent on pink becoming my favorite color even before she gets here. The bells jingle merrily as the front door opens, and I call out, “Welcome to the Mountain Rose . . .” as I look up, but it’s not a customer.

Devon comes in with takeout boxes from the diner, and as her eyes find me, her face screws up in exasperation. “Rose, what the hell are you doing? Why are you kneeling on the floor? You’re about to pop, for gosh sakes!”

She sets the boxes down on the desk and offers me a hand, helping me up. I accept the helping hand, grunting as I get up. “I’m fine. Just decided the mannequins needed to have some fun so I picked them out new outfits. And I’m kneeling because if I sit all the way down, I’d never get back up. I’m pregnant, not broken.”

Laughing, Devon brushes off my butt, which I guess has gotten a little bit of carpet fuzz on it. “All right, pick them out some goodies and then leave the clothes for me to do it. That’s what you pay me for, Boss.”

I smile, glad that she is such a good worker but more importantly, that she’s become a good friend in the months that she’s worked here. I don’t know what I’d do without her and I’m glad to have her so that I can go on maternity leave in a few weeks, secure that she’s got the boutique well in hand. The Mountain Rose isn’t going to miss out on the kick-off to the summer sale season, and I’m not going to have to rush back either.

“Thanks, truly. You’re a lifesaver.”

Devon shakes her head and heads back behind the register to drop off her things. “That’s what I’m here for. So, besides doing too much,” she says, giving me a knowing, reproachful glare, “what’s up?”

I smile, quietly loving her mama bear instinct because I already have quite a serious streak of protectiveness over Miss Amelia. “Nothing much. Saw some customers, sold several items, including one of the long layered maxi-skirts and one of those chunky turquoise necklaces to the same lady.”

Devon does a little fist pull as she makes a cha-ching sound. “Money, money, money, baby.”

“Yep,” I agree, not mentioning that I’m going to be giving Devon a bump in her paycheck this month because that necklace was her idea. “Good sale and a nice lady. She had me cut the tag off the necklace and wore it out—said it was her new favorite.” I smile at the memory of how excited the woman was with her new treasure.

“I’m glad,” Devon says. “All right, let me finish this up and you can get to whatever else needs done. Don’t forget your lunch. I got us soup and sandwich specials today.”

I grab the takeout box, inhaling the delicious aroma and realizing that the dry toast didn’t exactly last me long enough and I’m suddenly starving. “Thanks again. Holler if you need anything, otherwise I’m hibernating until I’m done.”

I get to the office and sit—well, more of a controlled fall—down on the couch, resting my food box on my belly and laughing that it’s become a convenient place to perch things. I sip at the soup. It’s good, light but filling, and helps me feel reenergized. For a diner that has a reputation for being a bit of a great side-of-the-highway comfort food place, they really know how to make a damn good high-quality soup . . . and today’s ginger and chicken with vegetables really kicks ass.

Deciding to save the sandwich as a pick-me-up treat for later, I set the box on the little table and stand to switch over to my desk. As I stand, my belly tightens, a strong squeezing sensation moving from under my ribs to down deep in my pelvis. It takes my breath away for a moment before I remember to breathe slowly, in and out.

“Whoa, baby,” I mutter, grabbing the edge of my desk. “What the—” My mind whirls, and I realize I just had a contraction.

As it passes and I feel fine again, I’ll admit that I’m a little excited. Dr. Stevens and the nurses who’d done my birthing classes had talked about how most women have practice contractions for weeks before they actually go into labor—Braxton-Hicks contractions, they call them—to help their bodies prepare.

“It’s like a marathon runner doing training runs beforehand,” Dr. Stevens told me when he explained them. “You’ve got to get your muscles ready and learn how to stay calm and breathe through the contraction. There’s another benefit too . . . for Amelia. The practice contractions will help her get in position and be ready for her birthday.”

All right, first practice contraction . . . handled like a boss, and that means I’m getting one step closer to meeting my little girl. I wish I could call Nic to tell him, but he’s still incommunicado out in the forests of Oregon, and I don’t want to scare the shit out of him by using Wes to get in touch with him. But he’ll be back in three days and I know he’ll be just as excited as I am.

I picture him holding my hands, telling me to breathe as he puffs his chest out, breathing with me, rubbing my belly lightly to feel the contraction himself and help me get through them as they become stronger.

We’re gonna do this. We’re gonna be parents. I can’t believe it. Trying to focus my buzzing brain, I sit at the desk, focusing on clicking all the right buttons as I go through item after item for the order. I don’t have any more contractions, just a general sense of tightness as I work, but I’m comfortable enough considering there’s a human being doing somersaults inside me. “Hope you’re having fun down there, babe,” I tell Amelia after clicking the Pay button on the last order. “Just think, soon enough, you’ll be outside and then the real fun starts.”

By late afternoon, I’m exhausted and hungry so I grab my earlier sandwich, thankful I saved it. After munching it down, I decide a little walking would do my back some good. The hours spent hunching in my office chair have not been doing my back any favors.

I step out into the boutique to see Devon making final adjustments to the mannequins, which are now placed in the display windows. Devon hears me and calls over, doing a final flourish with her feather duster. “Whatcha think, Rose?”

“Looks great. Thanks for finishing those.” Her eyes stay locked on her work as she brushes a little lint off the top and tweaks the necklace.

“No problem, Boss. You did good with the picks. Miss Madison-the-Mannequin looks ready for a night on the town. Heard she’s been talking to that mannequin they’re using for the Nike compression gear at the sporting goods store. Wonder if he’s enhancing any bulges in all that spandex.”

“Well, if anyone can find out, it’s Maddie,” I say as I laugh a little, the jiggle causing me to inhale sharply as another contraction shoots across my belly. “Oof!”

Devon is instantly sober and rushes over to me. “Rose, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

I breathe, nodding my head, waiting until it passes before I reply. “I’m fine, just having some Braxton-Hicks contractions today.”

“You sure?” Devon asks, her eyes searching my face, looking for a sign of . . . something. “You do look a little pale.”

I roll my eyes. Devon’s more freaked out by all of this than I am. “Gee, thanks, honey, but I’m okay. I do think I’ll head out for the day, though, if you have things handled.”

Devon smiles and gives me a hug back. “Everything is under control. Go home and get some rest. Call me if you need anything.”

I nod absently, wishing I was already curled up at home on the couch to get some sleep. I bend down to grab my purse from behind the counter, slipping it over my shoulder, when I feel a tiny little cramp deep inside and my panties feel suddenly wet. In my mind, I’m thinking that maybe I just peed myself, when I hear Devon gasp, her eyes locked on my leg. I look down and see a tiny line of blood trickling down the inside of my right leg, curling around to drip over my kneecap.

“Oh, my God,” I whisper in a voice that doesn’t sound like me. “That’s not supposed to happen.”

Devon’s voice is panicked, her eyes nearly big enough to fall right out of her head. “Do you want me to call Nic?”

I shake my head, realizing he’s in the wilderness with no phone. “Not yet. Call Brad and tell him I need him to take me to the hospital. And call Dr. Stevens so he can meet us there.”