He led me slowly up the stairs, letting me take my time and admire his work. When we got to the master bedroom, he slowly pushed the door open and let me walk in first.
Of course Porter had something planned; he always had something planned. My heart lurched when I saw the picnic he’d prepared for us and my thoughts immediately went rushing back to all the romantic picnics he’d planned: the first one on the beach, the picnic we had while hiking Multnomah Falls, the picnic on the floor of Dahlia before it had opened when he proposed. Porter gave good picnic.
“Babe, this looks wonderful,” I said, my eyes sweeping through the room. Our room boasted a large gas fireplace and a cozy fire was lit, casting a romantic firelight over the room. On the floor there were blankets spread out with an abundance of pillows. A picnic basket sat in the middle of the blanket, along with an ice bucket with a bottle of sparkling cider and two champagne flutes.
“I made sure there were enough pillows because I know sitting on the floor won’t be comfortable for long, and that’s apple cider in there, not champagne.”
I giggled because he sounded nervous. I had never really seen Porter nervous before. Anxious, yes. Angry and protective, yes. But never really nervous. I found it to be terribly endearing.
“It looks incredible, Porter. You’re too sweet.”
“I just always want you to remember our first meal in our new home.”
All I could do was nod in response, my lower lip being worried in between my teeth, trying to keep my eyes from watering. How did I manage to find him? How in the world did I ever manage to live before him? I tried to shake away the feelings as he placed a soft kiss on my forehead. I looked up at him and smiled.
“You’re amazing, you know that?”
He shrugged. “Just trying to take care of my baby momma.” He led me over to the stack of blankets and helped me sit which, in reality, turned more into a lean because there weren’t enough blankets in the world to make my ass comfortable on a hardwood floor. But I found a comfortable spot and relaxed, taking in the view of the fireplace and the sun setting outside of the French doors that led to our room’s balcony.
“We’ll have to get some nice chairs to put out there so we can enjoy the sunset when it’s warm.”
“Sounds like a plan,” he said as he poured me some cider.
We talked throughout the meal, making plans for the house, decorating ideas, plans for the yard and the property. Somehow I had talked him into getting some animals. Nothing too crazy, maybe just some chickens and a goat. What was the point in having all this property if we weren’t going to use it? He laughed at my logic and just made me promise I’d wait for at least a year before obtaining any animals.
The food was delicious and simple. He’d brought strawberries and pretzels with hummus, and I smiled when he brought out the celery sticks with peanut butter because I’d been craving those every night for nearly three weeks. He was a smart man.
“I didn’t give my mom enough notice for cheesecake, but I did get these brownies at a bakery in town.”
“Shut. Up.” I said, nearly drooling over the brownies he hadn’t even managed to unwrap yet. What was it about chocolate and pregnancy? For just one split second I had an image in my mind of wrapping a soft, warm brownie around a stalk of celery with peanut butter on it. It sounded like the most delicious thing on earth, but I knew in the back of my mind that anyone not growing a person in their belly would think it weird. So I kept my craving to myself, vowing to try it one day while Porter was at work. When he finally handed me a brownie, it was just as warm and soft as I had imagined it to be and I couldn’t help the overtly sexual moan that escaped my lips as I chewed.
I heard Porter startle, choke and cough, having inhaled a piece of his brownie. “Damn, Ella,” he said between sips of cider, trying to clear his throat. “You can’t make noises like that right now.”
“Why not? This brownie is absolutely orgasmic.”
“Because it’s not fair. No respectable man would have sex with his six month pregnant wife in a house with no furniture, and when you moan like that it makes it impossible for me to think about anything besides, well, that.”
“Sex?” I asked with a smile.
“Listen, what I’m imagining doing to you is more than just sex.”
I swallowed loudly. “Oh.”
“Yeah. So cool it with the moaning.”
“Well, why don’t we bring some of these brownies home with us later and then we can both get what we want.”
His eyes grew dark and he leaned in towards me slowly. “And what is it that you want, Mrs. Masters?”