Because she won't sit still long enough, that's why.
So you get Capri in motion - you get her baking cookies, almost-dancing between the counter and the stove and the kitchen table. Sway of hips and swing of hair. She's famous for that hair, among the few who get to see her - luscious thick waves of deep red, down past her shoulderblades right now - longest it's ever been. She hasn't gotten it cut in a bit. She wants to see how long it'll get, if it'll get as long as Julia's, as Kieran's. That's who she's watching, between shaping cookies - she's darting looks up into the living room, watching Kieran joke with Halloran, watching Julia standing slightly separate. Willing Julia to relax.
Timer goes off, and she gets another cookie sheet out, put another in, spins the quick-cooling cookies deftly with slim fingers, blue-glitter-painted nails. The polish matches her toenails - she's barefoot, as always. Yes, barefoot and in the kitchen, but not pregnant.
She moves to the counter, rolling balls of cookie dough, hips swaying. Capri likes to show off what she's got, and what she's got is very nice indeed. She's no swimsuit model - her breasts are lovely, but too small for the cover of a magazine. But she likes them, and she's never had any complaints. No, Capri is slim and well-shaped, and dresses to draw the eye to her favorite parts - snug t-shirts to draw attention to her breasts and narrow waist (ah, to have Halloran's hands around her waist!), nice tight jeans because she knows she has a great ass.
She looks up and over the counter, and this is really the best of Capri - wide, guileless eyes, deep blue as sapphires. A dusting of freckles like the cinnamon on those cookies. And more than anything else, that open, ready smile. Kieran's said that it's impossible to not love Capri when she smiles, and she smiles often.
She's surrounded by people she loves today, and will hopefully not kill them with her cooking. There's a lot to smile about.