'Tis The Season

“I’d love that.” Sitting up straight, I place my hands on the small of my back and rub. It won’t be too long before I start maternity leave. Nursing could be a sport with all the steps, and heavy lifting required. Doing it off balance and carrying weight is even more difficult.

“You feeling okay?”

“Yep, just the usual back pain.”

“I’ll rub you down when we’re done.” His hands have been a magical pain reliever. Sitting on the couch while he worked the kinks out of my back and massaged my feet has become a new form of foreplay.

“You keep spoiling me like this, and I won’t let you leave the house.”

“I’d be okay with that.” His voice deepens, and I lean across the car to squeeze his thigh.

“I bet you would.”

“Don’t tease, or we won’t make it to the shop.”

“Promises.” I remove my hand, knowing he means every word. I never thought I’d enjoy sex this far along in my pregnancy. Things with Preston were never so sensual. James took his time and made sure I got mine first. I understood now what it meant to be cherished.

“It’s so cute.” The white brick building has two large display buildings and a green sign with a ceramic cup full of art tools. Brightly colored plates line the windows. I fight the urge to press my face to the glass as I climb down and walk forward. The light coral colored paint around the window is highlighted by white trim that reminds me of the beach. Black wrought iron tables and chairs sit outside.

“This would be a perfect place to sit during warm weather.”

“I’ll have to bring both of my girls back then.”

His girls. I’d always resisted any sort of claim with Preston. I wanted to make things even down the board. James didn’t wake that desire in me. It was the man, not the money, that made the difference. Owning his office, he made more than I could ever hope to, even with overtime. But there was no sense of inequality or being lorded over. Preston was my first serious relationship. There were a lot of things I hadn’t known to look out for.

We step inside and find ourselves a table. A petite redhead with freckles greets us.

“Hi, I’m Poppy, and I’ll be helping you. We usually have everyone start off by picking their piece to paint and the colors. Just write down your numbers, and I’ll check back to get you started.”

“Thanks, Poppy,” James says. Her cheeks pinken.

I duck my head to hide my smile. Girl, I get it.

“Look at that flower bank. It’ll go good with our theme.” We decorated the walls in Flora’s room with a garden theme. The walls were vinyl stickered with vines, flowers, and cute animals. James said it reminded him of an English garden. We’d left a space for her first and middle name. Once I chose it.

“That’d be really cute.”

“If you’re making something for the baby, you might consider decorating a platter you can add their foot and handprint to later.”

“That’s such a sweet idea.”

“Plate it is,” James says with a chuckle.

“No, you can do what you want to.”

“I’d rather work on one piece with you for Flora.” His voice grows soft, and he gets the gentle expression I’ve come to adore.

Could he come to love her like she was his own? Would we be given that chance to find out?

“Let’s do it.”

Choosing shades of yellows, greens, and a bit of pink, we use stencils to wind vines around the plate’s edges before going back in to add flowers for pops of color.

“Should we do her name in sage green?” James asks.

“Yes. I’ll let you choose the lettering stencil.”

The painting is therapeutic, and my back thanks me for sitting. Flora lounges on my bladder once more. “You handle the name. I need to visit the little lady’s room.”