he responds by wrapping his arms around my waist, pulling me closer to where he’s sitting on the bed. When he rests his forehead against my stomach, it sends an image to my brain: us like this, but my belly big and round. I stiffen in his embrace, suddenly short of breath. Where the hell did that come from? Issac aside, I don’t even know if I want kids. What’s wrong with me? “I wish you wouldn’t worry,” he finally says. “You’re one of the best dressers I know. Nickels and dimes get you on the same level, or further than most of them, and they have stylists to help.
