“The internet says this helps you have a girl. Aren’t little girls supposed to be all sweet and adorable?”
Dorothea just stared at him, lost for words.
Her stomach hadn’t even given the slightest sign of pregnancy, but Latham was already picking out the baby’s gender.
“Aren’t you worried I might not even get pregnant?” she teased.
Latham pressed two fingers gently to her lips. “Don’t say that. The baby could be listening, and you’ll hurt their feelings.”
He was being so superstitious, like a few stray words could make or break their chances.
“You should be fair,” she said, shaking her head. “If it ends up being a boy, you’ll be crushed.”
Dorothea could never figure out why so many men dreamed of having daughters.
“I wouldn’t be crushed,” he insisted. Though, honestly, he’d probably have less patience with a son.
Changing the subject, Latham asked, “Do you want to have dinner with Beatty?”
Dorothea hesitated, thinking it over. “I mean, if you want to. Didn’t you say Beatty helped you out a lot before?”
“She did, but I paid her for it. We don’t have to get together. It’s not a big deal.”
“Then I’d rather not.” Dorothea didn’t see the point in making herself uncomfortable.
She had a feeling, maybe just a woman’s instinct, that Beatty had feelings for Latham.
But how could she explain that to him? Beatty hadn’t done anything wrong. Dorothea couldn’t complain about someone just because of a vibe.
“If you don’t want to, we won’t. I’ll tell her we’re not coming.”
When Beatty got turned down for the third time, her eyes went dark with disappointment.
Bonita, noticing her sour mood, took her out for drinks to cheer her up. “Last time you were defending Dorothea, but I told you she’s not as simple as she looks. It’s just dinner, and she won’t even let you eat with Latham.”
“It’s not her fault. I was out of line. He’s married. It’s normal to check with his wife first.”
“If you really think it’s normal, then why are your eyes all red?”
Beatty emptied her wine glass in one go.

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