Page 9 of Sterling Heat

“I don’t think she should have anything to eat,” Vale says as I’m being ushered to the long wooden bench, where I sat that first time. When I sit all unladylike with my legs spread to accommodate the swell of my belly, I lose a shoe despite the tightness of these heels. Why did I think I could make it through the day wearing them?

I’m set between two tables because I won’t be able to sit behind one. When my stomach clenches again, I grip the edge of a table, holding on for dear life as I feel like my body is being ripped in half.

“Seb, she’s in labor,” Vale warns.

“I can’t be,” I grind through gritted teeth. I have one month to go. I’m not ready. I will be moving in two weeks, and I wasn’t fully packed. The house hasn’t been finished yet and I was on my way there next after I got my damn lemon cake.

But as the pain rips through me, wetness leaks between my legs. Did I just pee myself? Could this get any more embarrassing?

“Shit,” I grouse.

“Sugar, I think you peed yourself.”

“Seb.” Vale smacks the man’s chest.

His eyes are wide, taking in the mess I’ve made on his tile floor. The same floor I wish would open up and swallow me.

“Honey.” Vale leans toward me. “I think your water broke.”

“What?” My eyes fill with their own liquid, and I rapidly blink, determined not to cry in front of this man again. Determined I won’t continue to humiliate myself before him. “My water can’t break.” I suck in air to will away tears. “Too soon. Six more weeks. Not ready.”

Vale softly smiles at me, her pretty face meant to soothe. “When the baby’s ready, the baby’s ready.”

“What?” Sebastian asks, glaring at her.

“This bun is ready to leave the oven.” Vale pats his arm as a chuckle fills her voice.

“Here’s some water.” A second woman with red hair and emerald-green eyes sets the glass on the table I’d pushed out of my way.

“Forget the water. Where the fuck is an ambulance?”

“No ambulance,” I mutter, attempting to push myself from my seat but another contraction hits and I’m curling forward, trying to fold into myself.

“Sebastian, do something,” Vale cries.

“You do something,” he mocks, only he gently presses me to my side, so I’m lying on the bench.

“How close are they coming?” Vale asks me.

“How close are what coming?” Sebastian asks.

“Her contractions.”

“I don’t know,” I huff, breathing through the pain. “I haven’t been counting.” Which is so stupid of me. I live to count numbers. Why hadn’t I been timing the minutes?

“Vale, take a look,” Sebastian growls, tension rising in his tone. From his perspective, I’ve made a mess on his floor, probably violating at least seventy-two health codes, and to make matters worse I’m about to have a baby in his bakery. My baby bun wants out of the oven.

“Okay, honey. I’m not a doctor. I don’t even play one on television.”

I get the joke, but I don’t have the energy to laugh.

“Valentine,” Sebastian groans.

She clears her throat. “But I am a mother, so I’m going to take a peek. See if I see anything.”

I nod, unable to move any other part of me. Vale lifts my feet to the bench, and I shift to my back as best I can.

“Whoa.” The space is narrow, and Sebastian is quick to move the tables out of the way.