Just My Style (Sticks & Stones Beach #3)

1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Cara

“Look who’s awake,” my best friend, Margo, says, walking into the room with a chubby baby in her arms. “Want to hold him?”

“Yes, please!” I reach for a pair of compression gloves that are tucked into the side pocket of my handbag. “Just let me—”

“Slip into your kid gloves?” she teases.

“Don’t pretend like your baby doesn’t have claws. I think he’s part wolverine,” I quip, sliding my hands into the soft fabric. As a hand model, I frequently wear gloves to protect against accidental scrapes, cuts, and burns. These particular gloves do double-duty, also helping with the joint pain that years in the business have caused.

I hold out my arms for the baby, and he leans toward me, reaching out with chubby arms that resemble stuffed sausages. I swear I can feel my ovaries quiver. There’s just something about a fat baby that makes a gal’s biological clock tick.

I clutch him to my side and dip my face toward his, making silly faces at him. “Say Cara. Care-uh. Caaaaaare-uh.” He happily babbles gibberish in response. “Close enough,” I say with a laugh.

“He’s only seven months old,” Margo says, chuckling. “It’ll be a few more months before he says his first real word.”

“But he has so much to say now.” I raise him above my head, and he giggles with glee. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Fishy Fish Face?”

Margo groans. “Could you please not call my baby Mr. Fishy Fish Face?”

I shrug apologetically. “I warned you when you decided to name him Fisher that he’d be saddled with fish-related nicknames for the rest of his life. There’s no avoiding it now.”

“Fisher is a wonderful name,” she protests. “All of the men in his life are fishermen. His father, Grandpa Coop, his Uncle Bishop, his cousin Jared. Even his Aunt Hazel fishes.”

My face stretches into a grin. “But not his mama.”

“Not his mama,” Margo agrees, scrunching her nose in disgust and smoothing an impeccably tailored wrap dress over her ample hips.

Despite being a new mom, she looks every bit as fashionable as she did when we shared an apartment in New York City. Sure, she wears comfortable, easy-to-wash fabrics now, but she doesn’t sacrifice style. Not even a little.

I tilt my head, inspecting the dress. “Does that come in black?”

“Yes, but we don’t carry it in black at Sticks he’s dumber than a box of rocks.”

“Nope. He’s a doctor. A world-renowned surgeon. He moved to Friendly last year when he discovered he had a son. Now, he’s working as a general practitioner and is the only doctor on the island.”

I stare at her in mock outrage. “And you haven’t introduced me yet? I thought you were my friend!”

She laughs. “You’ll have to stay longer than a weekend next time.”

I scoff. “If he’s as awesome as you say, I’m sure Prince Charming will be taken by my next visit.”

Fisher wraps his hand around a long strand of my hair, yawns, and rests his head on my shoulder. I rock him gently until he falls asleep. A pang of regret pierces my heart. I’ve travelled the world, met fascinating people, and enjoyed a life full of fun and adventure.

But at what cost?

“Here,” Margo whispers, holding out her arms for her little boy. “I’ll put him in the crib with his sister. He sleeps better when he’s near her. It’s a twin thing.”

I hand him over, instantly missing the warmth of his little body in my arms. I follow Margo to the nursery, but she freezes in the doorway.

“Well, I guess you get to tell Hildy goodbye, after all,” she says, shaking her head.

I peek around Margo to see Hildy sitting up in her crib. She’s wide awake, giving us a big, wet smile. With a soft laugh, I walk across the room and lift the sweet girl into my arms. “Hiya, Hildy. Can you say Cara ?”

Margo chuckles, placing Fisher in the crib, and rubbing his head with her palm. “Sweet dreams, Fishy.”

Busted! I point a finger at her. “You just called him Fishy,” I whisper.

Her cheeks redden. “No, I didn’t,” she hisses. But when her eyes meet mine, we both dissolve into a fit of giggles. Baby Hildy coos along, as if she’s in on the joke.