Baby, I'm Yours. Catherine Mann

nerves. She normally enjoyed baby showers and all their sentimentality, but not tonight.

      Although Claire had to admit, her sisters had pulled everything together well while she slept.

      They’d closed off the smallest of the three dining areas, leaving the two other rooms and the back bar open for business. Chairs for the thirty-four guests perched in a semicircle by a banquet table of presents, the buffet lining the back wall. Rena reigned from a mauve wingback chair, the expectant mom absurdly regal in her floppy bonnet concocted with gift ribbons and bows. The woman’s third trimester pregnant belly had Claire itching to scratch her own expanding waistline.

      Instead she checked out the decorations for the tenth time to make sure every floating candle stayed lit in the crystal bowls. Magnolia and gardenia blooms accented clusters of white, pink and blue balloons. A centerpiece basket overflowed with party favors—horseshoes decorated with raffia and ribbon to hang over doors for good luck.

      Superstitious Starr’s idea, of course.

      The inexpensive decorations scrounged from their yard and estate sales weren’t too shabby. Hopefully word would spread, leading to more bookings for showers and rehearsal dinners—even banquets.

      Claire swept a stray hair back behind her ear. If only the mess she’d made of her situation with Vic could be as easily handled.

      Not for the first time tonight, her gaze gravitated to the open French doors toward his boat docked in the harbor. Dusk left a hazy glow over the water. Lights lined the marina, Vic’s boat glowing inside as well since he lived there.

      His hard-muscled body made a towering shadowy outline on the deck, no doubt watching for her guests to leave so he could corner her. He lounged against the rail illuminated by a halogen lamp, slowly drinking from the glass in his hand.

      Even from a distance, she knew without question the glass contained her tea. He always purchased a gallon to take with him. He never drank alcohol. Never. She’d asked him why once and he’d said something offhand about always being on call for his four-legged patients. She’d wanted to urge him to share, but he’d nuzzled her neck and…

      Well, she’d forgotten about questions as well as stocking up on more condoms. Ones with a current expiration date.

      “Okay!” Starr waggled a tiny wicker basket in the air. “Now that we’re done with the presents, it’s time for one more game. My favorite. Baby-Making Mad Libs.”

      Claire winced. Could this evening be any more torturous? She glanced out the window at Vic—waiting.

      The answer remained to be seen.

      Starr rained slips of paper into the basket. “I’ve written down everything Rena said when she opened her gifts. We’re each going to read one of the comments out loud to learn what Rena said the night she and her husband made this fourth baby.”