Baby & Bump (The This & That Series) by Brooke Moss

wink, stuffing the phone back into his jeans pocket. “And his name is Libman.”
                  I snorted, then slapped a hand over my nose. Just at the end of the aisle, right beside the cranky old lady on the scooter, was a rack of Libman mops and brooms, their green and white labels gleaming in the sunlight. “That’s the coolest dog name I’ve ever heard.”
                  “Thanks,” he said with a heart-stopping grin. “We’ve had him since my ex wife left. He’s gotten us through some tough times.”
                  We started walking towards the dairy department, my hands fidgeting on the cart handle like a restless kid. “Your daughter is beautiful. She’s got a great smile.”
                  “Thanks. She’s got her grandmother’s smile.” There was a hint of pride in his voice. “My mom was Miss Memphis about forty-five years ago.”
                  “No kidding?” I raised my eyebrows. “Impressive. So you have pageantry in the blood?”
                  He chuckled and grabbed a box of crackers off of a shelf as we rounded the corner. “Yeah. I guess. I have one heck of a parade wave.”
                  “So were you raised around here?” I pretended to examine the back of a can of spray cheese thoroughly.
                  “Nah. We lived in Tennessee until I was about fifteen. Then my dad transferred to Spokane.” He said. “We lived on the north side. I went to WSU, then transferred to the U of W for medical school. How about you? Did you grow up around here?”
                  I nodded, putting the spray cheese back onto the shelf. “Uh huh. My whole family lives here. Well, not my dad. He died when I was a teenager.”
                  I felt Fletcher’s blue eyes on the side of my face. “Oh, I’m sorry,” He said. “That must have been hard for you.”
                  “It was.” I picked up a box of saltine crackers, thought about it for a moment, then grabbed three more. “But I went on to college and now I own my own business, so I turned out all right. My youngest brother, though? Not so much.” Dumping the crackers into the cart, I started strolling again. “He was only eight when it happened, and he never really matured much. He’s still a giant kid.”
                  Fletcher touched my elbow, redirecting me around a cardboard display. My skin flared with a prickly heat. “I have an older brother like that. Unattached, flighty, you get the idea.”
                  “There’s one in every family, right?” I smiled up at him. “So are you and Martha close to your parents?”
                  “Martha spends every day after school with my mother. They’re currently making a quilt together.”
                  “Oh, how sweet. I hope my mother does things like that with this kid.” I imagined my mom quilting with my child. The image was quickly squashed by a vision of my mother dressing my baby up in doll clothes and propping him on a shelf. “Well, scratch that. She’s a little bit…intense.”
                  Fletcher grabbed a bag of coffee grounds. “Isn’t everyone’s mom intense?”
                  “Mine takes the cake.” I raised an eyebrow at him. “She has a huge collection of stuff.”
                  Crinkles appeared on either side of his eyes. “My mother collects bells. They’re all over the house. Whenever you shut a cupboard or closet door, the whole house jingles.”
                  “I can beat that,” I challenged. “My mother’s walls are lined with hundreds of Cabbage Patch dolls, and she has an entire filing cabinet filled with birth certificates for each and every one.”
                  Fletcher released a low whistle. “Wow. Birth certificates. That is