“Always the player.”
His eyes swept her face. “Because I speak the obvious?”
Her psychology hat popped onto her head as quick as Mary Poppins could snap open her umbrella. “Because you say things like that to disarm your opponent and put yourself in a dominant position.”
Glen blinked several times, his eyes never changing focus. “I-I do what?”
“Oh, forget it.” She attempted to grasp the monkey from his hand, but he kept hold. “Glen, please.”
“I like when a woman begs.”
She let loose the monkey. “You’re impossible.”
He snatched it into his hands. “Maybe, but I get what I want.”
Mary started to leave the gift shop before remembering why she was there.
Doing her best to ignore Glen as he stepped up to the register to purchase the lame stuffed toy, Mary randomly grabbed a half a dozen candy bars and waited for her turn.
The seventy-plus-year-old woman behind the counter offered a full smile as she rang up Glen’s purchase. “Are you a pilot?”
Mary had a strong urge to roll her eyes.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“It’s always so nice to see those clean white uniforms. So few young men pay attention to their whites.”
“It’s hard to attract the attention of beautiful women wearing dingy yellow,” he told her.
She blushed at Glen’s words as she handed him his change. “I’m sure you have no trouble there.”
He had the nerve to glance over his shoulder at Mary.
Instead of pretending she wasn’t listening, Mary met his eyes.
“You’d be surprised,” Glen told the clerk.
He took the bagged-up monkey and took two steps back and waited.
Mary dumped the candy on the counter while Glen stared.
“What?” she asked him.
“Well, that explains why you’re so uptight.”
She narrowed her eyes and looked down.
“Excuse me?”
“Women need chocolate on occasion.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “It’s not . . .”
“It’s okay, Mary. Everything makes sense.”
“It isn’t . . . it’s for Walt.”
Glen looked beyond her at the volunteer behind the register and winked. “I’m sure it is.”
“It is.” The fact that he was insinuating she was on her cycle had her wanting to toss the candy at him. The last thing she wanted to discuss was something as personal as her period.
“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”
The man made her want to scream.
She snatched dollar bills from her purse, tossed them on the counter, then took Walt’s bag of chocolate before storming out of the gift shop without taking her change.
As she expected, Glen followed behind.
She hit the button to the elevator twice. “You were going to give that poor woman in the gift shop a heart attack.”
“Is that right.”
A woman and a toddler moved to stand beside them.
Once the elevator arrived and six people filed out, they pushed in and stood in silence until the mom and son left on the third floor.
“Do you flirt with everyone who wears a bra?”
Glen glanced at the ceiling. “Was she wearing a bra?”
Mary felt a smile tugging at the corner of her lips and fought it back. “Seriously, Glen. You must know how out of line it is to flirt with a woman her age.”
“Seriously, Mary.” He used her words against her. “Why are you so worried about my reputation?”
“I’m not worried about your reputation.” Am I worried about his reputation?
The doors opened on the sixth floor and she stepped out.
They rounded past the glass partition to the room holding all the infants born that day. Inside were four cherub faces, one wrapped in blue, the other three in pink.
Glen’s step faltered. “Are any of these . . .”
Mary kept walking. “No, she hasn’t delivered yet.”
Glen rubbernecked at the nursery as he walked beside her.
For a moment, the smirk he wore on his face waned.
The next corner brought them to the open waiting room.
Monica jumped up when she saw them.
Mary greeted her with a hug. “You didn’t have to rush.”
“If I broke my leg on the way to the hospital to deliver a baby, someone better rush for me.”
Mary loved friends like Monica.
“Did you tell the nurses you’re here?”
Monica nodded.
Mary sat, setting her purse and the bag of candy on the floor beside her.
Monica immediately picked up Mary’s stuff and set it in the chair. “Hospital floors,” she said as if Mary understood her point without question.
“It’s going to be a while. Walt said Dakota was only at seven centimeters,” Mary told her.
“Could take hours then.”
“Seven centimeters?” Glen asked.
Both women turned his way.
“The cervix has to dilate to ten before she can push.”
Glen stopped smiling. “Ten centimeters?” He rounded the fingers on his right hand with his left. “That has to hurt.”
“That’s why they call it labor,” Monica said with a laugh.
Mary noticed Glen swallowing as he separated his hands and rested them on the arms of the chair.
“Hard to picture, isn’t it?” she asked him.