Page 203 of Camp Bliss
The man growls again, but this time he sounds inordinately pleased. “Atta…g-girlll.”
“Tyler—” his wife scolds. Then shetsks.“I wish Stella and Lark could’ve come.”
Maisy huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “Nooo, they just had to eat chili in marble caves.”
I have no idea what she’s saying, but both of Naomi’s parents erupt in laughter.
“No, Maisy,” Naomi’s mom corrects. “They’re in Chile, the country. Seeing the Marble Caves.”
Maisy rolls her eyes. “It’s still dumb. Especially since I didn’t get to go this time.”
Before her aunt can respond to Maisy, Naomi bellows from the platform. “Mommy! Pleeeaaase!”
Crap. I scan the clearing. The three other counselors, two on belay and one at the end of the zipline, are all male. I could kick myself. Totally missed that when I made the work schedule for this month.
“What if I joined you?”
I spin around at the sound of my wife’s voice. She’s approaching from the trailhead, her hair in a messy bun and her complexion a shade too pale.
I scowl. “What are you doing out here?” I glance at my watch and see that Happy Hour for our overnight guests ended fifteen minutes ago. “You should be resting.”
She shakes her head like this is a lost cause.
We surprised my parents a couple of weeks ago—giving them a taste of their own medicine— when we turned up at their golf club to give them the good news. But I think Greta has thrown up every day since we got back.
“You’ll go with me, Ms. G?” Naomi practically squeals. I look back up at the preschooler on the platform. The kid doesn’t look scared at all anymore.
Now I’m the one having second thoughts.
“Yes, birthday girl! You bet!” Greta calls back.
She’s crossing the clearing, but I intercept her before she reaches the zipline.
“You sure about this?” I keep my voice low. We haven’t told anyone but family. None of our employees know yet. But then again, Greta’s been so nauseated lately, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re starting to wonder.
“It’ll be fine, Zach,” she whispers back.
My gaze drops to her belly where there is nothing resembling a baby bump in sight. But I’m ready. So ready for it. I’m already loving the changes in her body. Her breasts are so full and so sensitive.
And when she’s not ready to toss her cookies—or take a nap—it’s like her libido is on Human Growth Hormone.
I want to press my palm to her belly, but I clasp her hand instead.
“What about Pancake?” I whisper.
This is the name we’ve given our little hellion because it seems pancakes are the only things Greta can stomach at the moment. I’m beginning to think the smell of maple syrup is an aphrodisiac.
“Pancake will be fine,” she says, eyeing me with patient forbearance. “I’ll ride the brake the entire time. I promise.”
She has a point. Because we use the tandem harness to ride with little kids or those with special needs, we do have a handbrake that tamps down on the line. She knows what she’s doing, and she won’t let the ride jostle her or Pancake around too much.
It doesn’t mean I don’t get to fuss over her.
She’s my Greta, and that’s my Pancake she’s growing in there.
If anything happened to either of them, I’d—
“Zach, don’t squeeze so hard, baby.” Greta shakes her hand loose from mine. But, as though in response, she grabs the neckline of my T-shirt and pulls me in for a quick kiss.
