"I got some cider from Gillespie's. How's Emma?"
"Having a good time," Oliver said. "A couple of bees checked her out.
No harm done. I think she likes it outside."
"That's my precious," Jennifer said, lifting her out of the playpen.
"Oh, you need changing, oh my precious!" She looked at Oliver
accusingly.
"Whoops," he said. He unloaded the car while she changed Emma. "Great
stuff, this cider," he said, knocking down a glass.
The afternoons were short in October, but Oliver had the windows in
place by four o'clock. Jennifer had cooked a ham and baked two pies.
The house smelled good. Emma was asleep. Oliver opened a bottle of
Rioja, and they ate, listening to _Prairie Home Companion_ on the
public radio station. He would rather have talked about
something--Garrison Keillor was too smug for Oliver's taste--but
Jennifer loved him. He was funny, sometimes, Oliver admitted. And the
music was good.
Later, in bed, Jennifer sighed contentedly. "I love it here," she said.
Oliver snuggled closer. "I've been thinking about two weeks from
today," she went on.
"Two weeks?" he mumbled.
"For the housewarming."
"Housewarming." He put a hand on her breast.
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