Lucy Rothschild-McIntyre sat up straight in her chair, a piece of chocolate torte suspended on the fork tines in front of her face. Clare Vaughan stared across the kitchen table at Adele, her eyes wide as Maddie Jones set down her glass of wine and lifted a brow. “Are you shitting me?” Maddie asked.Adele shook her head. Her three closest friends sat at her kitchen table in her home in Boise, feasting on Lucy’s torte. She’d been home a day and a half, and her friends had come over to cook dinner together and catch up. Adele had waited until dessert to drop her bombshell.“Nope,” Adele answered, and took a bite of cake. “Not shitting you. I’m pregnant.”“And you waited until now to tell us.”Adele shrugged. “I knew that’s all we’d talk about, and I wanted to know what y’all have been up to first.”One corner of Maddie’s lips rose. “Y’all?”“How far along are you?” Clare asked.“Eight weeks now.” Two months. The nausea hadn’t let up, and her breasts were sore.
