Liz Talley - The Sweetest September

Shelby moved toward her room, abandoning her own spying on the very interesting Birdie. “Well, my view’s lovely and I didn’t hear anything.”

“I’m lucky most of the rooms face the woods on either side of the house. I haven’t had trouble, but I would have preferred the solitude.” Abigail set the tray on the bedside table. “Nice socks.”

Shelby lifted her foot and wiggled the One Direction socks. “I feel cool, but maybe I’ll leave them for Birdie.”

“Don’t bother. She thinks boy bands are stupid...and boys are disgusting.”

Yeah. Right. “Well, she’s only...eight or nine?”

“Try twelve,” Abigail said with a smile. “A little small for her age.”

Twelve? Shelby thought she had stretched it by suggesting eight. Of course, Shelby didn’t know a lot about elementary-aged kids. Neither of her siblings had procreated, professing no urge to overpopulate the earth—something about the ozone layer and stretch marks. And by the time students hit high school and Shelby’s desks, most had gone through puberty.

“I brought you some oatmeal, a soft boiled egg and dry toast. John said you were sick or something and I didn’t know if you wanted anything rich. I have some Bananas Foster French toast if you’d rather that?”

Oh, yum. Shelby’s stomach growled...but then she thought about the diet guidelines in her healthy pregnancy books. Maybe something low fat and easy on her stomach would be a good idea. “This is fine. Thank you.”

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