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30
Jon
The months went by quickly, much quicker than I could have ever imagined.
Sitting in the basement of what was now our home, I fiddled with my latest model, a Soviet-prototype Sharotank. I couldn’t really complain about my new hobby room. The full basement was three times the size of my old one, even with the extension I had built. With the sale of my old house and the one beside us, I had taken a break from flipping houses until after the baby was born, instead focusing on some projects around home like finishing the nursery and childproofing what felt like the entire planet.
With all of that out of the way, I’d taken to focusing on my models whenever Rain was busy elsewhere. Her business had really taken off in the months following the wedding, so much so that she’d eventually purchased a second mobile unit and hired a young veterinarian who was currently renting the small cabin at the edge of the property while he saved up to buy a place, which I promised to help him find and fix up when he was ready. Between the two of them, they managed most of the county’s farm animals, something he would have to cope with alone for a bit after she had the baby, though she had promised to hire him some help if he got overwhelmed.
Though my cats had never been allowed in my old hobby room, I didn’t mind letting them in this one while I was around to police them. They mostly climbed up into the rafters and looked around rather than bothering anything. The monitor for the nursery sat on a nearby table. Even though the baby hadn’t arrived yet, Rain could use the intercom on it to talk to me rather than ambling down the stairwell or having to yell across the house if she needed something. She was due any day now, so both of our lives would be changing very soon.
As I sat there, gluing tiny parts together beneath the bright light and magnifier clipped to one side of the table, I heard the monitor crackle and her voice come across it.
“We need to get going, Jon. You’ve got about ten minutes to finish up and get changed, or I’m coming down there,” she said.
I laughed and glued one final piece into place, placing it in a small clamp and then turning off the light to head upstairs.
“Come on, cats. We’ve been summoned,” I told Atticus and Scout, tapping my hand on one of the beams to get their attention. They slowly crawled out of their hiding places and ran up the stairs beside me, another reason I didn’t want her coming down the steps in her condition. The way these two rampaged up and down the steps, it was a hazard that we might trip over them.
I found her in the bedroom, pulling her hair into a ponytail, and I kissed her on the side of the neck and changed shirts. Tonight was the beginning of the Spring Festival around the town square.
“Why are we going to this thing again?” I asked.
“I like to see the crafts they have. There’s some really nice stuff there sometimes,” she said.
“You mean pie, don’t you?”
“What?” she asked, feigning innocence.
“You mean you are after one of those fresh pies some of the folks in town make, don’t you?”
“Are you accusing me of just going to this festival to get a pie?”
“Oh yeah. I’ve never seen a pregnant woman crave pie like you do.”
“Have you spent a lot of time with pregnant women?”
“Well, no,” I laughed.
“I want to look at crafts,” she said, a thin smile on her lips.
“All right. We’ll go look at crafts then. I aim to please.”
“Great. Let’s gets moving,” she told me.
“Before they run out of pies…I mean, crafts,” I teased.
“You’re pushing your luck, Jon Rayburn.”
“I just love seeing you get all riled up.”
“You sure do,” she said.
We arrived at the fair almost as soon as it started. Rain made a point of visiting a couple of craft booths, even buying a small piece of jewelry from Becky. Then she made a beeline for the nearest baked-goods booth, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Do you have any peach pies?” she asked.
“Are these pies decorative only?” I asked from behind her, garnering myself a light poke in the ribs from her elbow.
“We do. Would you like to try a sample?”
“That would be great,” she replied, giving me a bit of side-eye as a warning not to say anything.
Standing in the street in front of Molly O’Brien’s booth, she accepted a small plate with a thin slice of peach pie. I watched as she took a bite, her face a mask of pure ecstasy as she savored it. As she went to take another bite, she suddenly gasped and doubled over, losing her grip on the plate and letting it fall to the ground. Molly looked alarmed, perhaps even a bit offended.
