Nicole
"Give me those death traps," I demanded, pointing at Dodie's ridiculous stilettos.
When Dodie stubbornly crossed her legs under the table, I sighed. "Fine. Wait here."
I marched out of the café and headed straight for the nearest mall.
After a quick scan of the shoe department, I found what I needed: a pair of sensible, cushioned ballet flats—stylish enough for Dodie's standards but actually suitable.
When I returned, I tossed the shopping bag at her feet. "Put them on."
Dodie's expression crumpled when she saw the flats. "Are you serious? These are... they're so flat," she wailed, as if I'd asked her to wear cardboard boxes.
"Welcome to pregnancy," Weslee said with a gentle smile. "Your comfort matters more than fashion now."
"My comfort includes looking f
