Nine

IV Drips & Tequila Kisses

 

They didn’t make it back to the hotel until well after dinner. The city had long since quieted, its pulse dimmed to a low hum, and the lobby was nearly empty—just the quiet hiss of the HVAC and the rhythmic click of Cliff’s boots against polished marble tiles. The overhead lights cast a warm, golden glow that glinted off the brass elevator doors as they made their way across the expansive floor.

 

The last few weeks had been a blur—doctor's appointments, work meetings, endless logistics—and the last eight hours had left Ariana completely drained. Still, as they turned down the quiet corridor leading to Dr. Cummings’ room, a flicker of energy sparked in her chest. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

 

“Cliff, you don’t have to wait,” she said, managing a tired smile. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be.”

 

“No can do, Lucy,” he replied without hesitation. “I’ll be here when you’re done.”

 

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Really, Big Red? We’re the only ones on this side of the floor.”

 

He flashed a grin, clearly amused by her latest nickname. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be right here.” He leaned against the wall, arms crossed with casual confidence, looking every bit the watchful guardian he always seemed to be.

 

“Whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes playfully.

 

Ari knocked gently at Dr. Cummings’ door, her knuckles barely making a sound against the dark wood. It opened almost immediately, revealing the familiar face of Dr. Nicole Cummings, whose warm smile and calm presence made Ariana feel like she could finally exhale.

 

“Hello, Ariana,” Dr. Cummings greeted, her voice a smooth blend of professionalism and genuine care.

 

“Hey. Sorry I’m late.”

 

“No worries at all,” she said, stepping aside to let her in. “Come on in.”

 

Ari stepped inside and sank gratefully into a plush armchair near the window. The room, though clinical in purpose, was softly lit and comfortably appointed, its muted colors offering a brief reprieve from the day’s intensity. As she settled in, the familiar cadence of conversation flowed easily between them—an effortless blend of small talk and subtle check-ins.

 

Nicole Cummings had been by her side during her first pregnancy, when everything had felt fragile and overwhelming. In the months that followed, their relationship had shifted. She wasn’t just a doctor anymore—she was a trusted confidante, someone who’d navigated Ariana through emotional storms with steady hands and an open heart. Ari was counting on that same steadiness now.

 

“I swear, this baby is going to give me a run for my money,” Ari said, half-laughing, half-exhausted.

 

Dr. Cummings chuckled gently as she settled into the chair across from her. “And you’ll get through it, just like you did last time.”

 

“If only I could fast-forward to the part where I can eat without feeling like I’m about to toss my cookies.”

 

“I know it’s tough. But let’s focus on what we can do to make things better,” she said, pulling up the latest test results on her tablet. “The good news is everything looks stable. All your levels are within normal range. My main concern is the continued nausea and dehydration.”

 

“Trust me, I’m not thrilled with either of those.”

 

“We can start addressing the dehydration by improving your fluid intake,” she said, her tone gentle but firm. “Small, frequent sips throughout the day can make a big difference. Hydration is key.”

 

“And the nausea… with a side of vomiting? Because honestly, I’d commit a felony for a cheeseburger and fries right now.”

 

“I’m sorry. I know this hasn’t been easy.”

 

“No, it hasn’t. So… do you have any magical solution for that cheeseburger?”

 

“I do have a plan,” Nicole said with a knowing smile, “but I’m not sure you’ll love it.”

 

Ari raised an eyebrow. “As long as it doesn’t involve bed rest in another country, I’m game.”

 

“Nothing that dramatic,” Nicole promised.

 

“Okay. I’m listening.”

 

“I want to keep your port in for a little longer,” she said, lifting a hand to preempt the groan that formed on Ari’s lips. “Hear me out. For the next week, we’ll hydrate you with a saline bag about thirty minutes before each meal. That boost should help your body tolerate food better. Then we’ll introduce small, healthy meals as you can handle them—scrambled eggs, grilled chicken…”

 

Ari made a face.

 

“Maybe a slice of pizza?” Nicole offered with a grin. “The key here is consistency. This isn’t a marathon—it’s a short sprint to get you off the IV bags and back on your feet.”

 

“So basically, I’m going to have to walk around with a damn IV pole,” Ari said, narrowing her eyes. “There’s no way I can work like that.”

 

“No pole,” Nicole reassured her. “We’ll disconnect the bag when it’s done and cap your port. You’ll be free to move around until the next meal.”

 

Ari was quiet for a moment, weighing the plan. Then she nodded slowly. “And you really think this will help?”

 

“I do. Drs. Barnes and Laurent have ruled out hyperemesis gravidarum. Honestly, I think your body’s just catching up after Lily and the six months of breastfeeding.”

 

“At this point, I’ll try anything. Let’s do it.”

 

“When was the last time you ate?” Nicole asked, pulling out the IV supplies from a nearby cabinet.

 

“A couple of hours ago. I had some salad, a few pieces of chicken, and—” she gave a dramatic pause— “a large, life-affirming serving of Froot Loops. They’re my lifesaver right now.”

 

“And you kept all of that down?”

 

“Yes, but the nausea lingered. I kept waiting for the moment when everything would come right back up.”

 

“Well,” Nicole said as she prepped the saline bag, “let’s get you hooked up and see how this goes.”

 

Ari nodded and reached for her phone. She fired off a quick message to Jon, updating him on the new plan, then another to Cliff, letting him know she’d need about twenty more minutes. 

 

His reply came seconds later:  I’ll be here waiting.

 

Nicole connected the IV with practiced ease, and as the saline began to flow, the two women shifted to discussing the upcoming appointment in Montreal with Dr. Laurent—and the amniocentesis scheduled there. Ari had been through the procedure once before with Lily, but nerves were nerves, and she wanted a refresher.

 

Nicole walked her through it all—the thin needle, the amniotic sac, the brief but important sampling—and ended with the calm reassurance that everything would go smoothly.

 

When the IV finished, Nicole packed up the supplies and gave her a gentle smile.

 

“We’ll talk again in the morning, but I think this plan is going to make a big difference.”

 

“Thanks, Doc,” Ari said sincerely. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

 

♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱

 

Stepping into their suite, Ariana paused as the soft clink of glass drew her gaze toward the couch. There was Jon, stretched out like he owned the place—one arm draped casually across the back cushion, the other cradling a half-empty glass of his favorite wine. The bottle sat on the coffee table, long since surrendered to the evening.

 

“Starting without me?” she teased, a playful smirk tugging at her lips as she kicked off her boots and sauntered over.

 

“Nope,” he replied, eyes gleaming as they tracked her. “Nic gave me the heads-up you’d be back soon and probably starving. So, I ordered a few of your favorites.”

 

She scanned the table with mock scrutiny. “I don’t see tequila.”

 

“Crash,” he said, shaking his head with a grin, “if I could, I would.”

 

She stepped between his legs, her knee pressing into the couch as she leaned in, tilting her head with a mischievous smile. “May - be,” she drawled, “you do a shot... and I taste it off your lips.”

 

Jon raised an eyebrow, his smirk matching hers. “Oh, really? And what’s in it for me?”

 

A breathy laugh escaped her as she closed the distance between them. “You know tequila and I drive you crazy. That alone should spark a few ideas.”

 

His gaze dropped to her lips, lingering before he leaned in, his voice low against her ear. “Sounds like a wager. Eat that burger and fries under the dome, and I’ll let you taste whatever you’re craving.”

 

“And if I don’t?” she whispered, brushing her nose against his.

 

He slid his hand up the back of her thigh and gave her a playful slap. “Then you better come up with something equally tempting to make it worth my while.”

 

Rolling her eyes, she lifted his hand from her body and turned to the table with a grin. Lifting the silver dome, she gave an approving nod. “Should I order the bottle now,” she asked, picking up the cheeseburger and taking a bold bite, “or after I win?”

 

Jon arched an eyebrow as she set it back down and replaced the lid. “Gotta eat more than one bite if you’re planning to win, smartass.”

 

“Oh, I’ll win,” she said confidently, licking a bit of grease from her fingertips. “But first, I’m going to wash the day off and kiss Lily goodnight. How was she tonight?”

 

“Perfect,” he said without missing a beat. “Just like her father.”

 

She snorted, padding across the room. “That statement is half true,” she called over her shoulder, pausing in the doorway. “Remind me to tell you who I ran into today.”

 

The room was dim and quiet, a soft nightlight casting a gentle glow over Lily’s sleeping form. She lay curled on her stomach, knees tucked under her, her tiny bottom raised in the way only toddlers could manage. One hand clutched her beloved plush monkey, the other resting against the mesh side of her pack-n-play, touching Meatball—her loyal, oversized, fuzzy companion.

 

Meatball lifted his head as Ariana approached, giving her a slow, sleepy blink as if to say everything’s fine here, Mom. She smiled, her heart swelling at the sight, then tiptoed to the bathroom.

 

She peeled off her black leggings, letting them fall in a whisper to the cool tile, followed by her soft crew shirt. The fabric slipped over her shoulders, loosening her wild curls from their silk tie. They tumbled down around her face, framing it in unruly waves.

 

The bathroom began to fill with steam as she turned on the shower. Stepping into the warmth, she sighed as the hot water poured over her, rinsing away the tension of the day. Muscles softened. Thoughts quieted.

 

She lingered beneath the stream before reaching for the shampoo. A dollop in her hand filled the room with the sweet scent of candied apples as she worked it through her scalp. Rinse. Repeat. Conditioner followed, smoothed carefully through every strand with practiced fingers.

 

Next came her loofah and matching body wash—sweet, warm, and familiar. She lathered, scrubbed, rinsed, and stepped out refreshed.

 

Wrapping her hair in a towel and another snugly around her body, she padded into the bedroom. From her suitcase, she pulled on her favorite sleep shorts and one of Jon’s old, perfectly broken-in T-shirts. She paused for a moment, pressing the collar to her face. It still smelled like him.

 

Crossing to the nightstand, she picked up the hotel phone and dialed concierge.

 

She had every intention of winning this bet.

 

And that meant she needed a bottle of her favorite golden liquid delivered—stat.