Making Babies. Wendy Warren

he said, “I’ll be over in fifteen minutes to find out why you were peering through my window.”

      Elaine halted momentarily, but didn’t turn around. “Make it twenty.”

      He arrived on her doorstep precisely twenty minutes later. The bag he carried smelled like a grilled onion burger and hot fries and had Burgerville written across the side.

      “Come in.”

      Mitch crossed the threshold, appraising her freshly showered self. She’d dressed in white jeans, a sleeveless cotton turtleneck in pale peach, and gold Winnie-the-Pooh earrings. It was a classic butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth-so-I’m-sure-you’ll-believe-me-when-I-say-I-most-certainly-was-not-peering-through-your-window ensemble.