Convalescence

Ice Cubes

Emily's pregnancy comes with odd cravings - pickles and peanut butter, olives (which he doesn't remember her liking before), and the biggest craving of all - ice. Crushed, cubed, shaved, etc. It did not matter. She would take anything, though crushed ice, and the shaved ice of a snow cone without the syrup seemed to be her preference.

Unfortunately, with it being New York in the middle of a July heatwave, bags of ice are hard to come by, and Emily's cravings seem to intensify with each day he's unable to get his hands on the much treasured ice. A cup from a drive-thru is about all he's able to manage and with the pandemic, even that gets difficult.

Amazon is his saving grace in the form of the overnight shipping and delivery of the only ice machine still readily available. A countertop one that's supposed to be able to produce almost thirty pounds of ice a day.

She's attempting to fit her entire swollen hand (the doctor had reassured them it's perfectly normal and her ankles would likely match) in a jar of olives when the doorbell rings. Charlie merely laughs and leaves her to it while he retrieves the package. She's none the wiser, far too busy trying to satisfy one craving to worry about another, until he gets the thing plugged in and water running.

"Charlie?" Emily finally looks up from the kalamata olives she'd been wrestling out of the jar. She supposes she could pour them into a bowl - though, that wouldn't hinder the eating process, it would force her to admit she can down a whole jar of olives in one sitting and she's not ready for that, yet.

"In the kitchen. C'mere, baby." Charlie responds over the hum of the ice machine. "I think you'll like it."

He listens to the sound of her slippers on the hardwood floor and can't help but chuckle when she appears in the doorway of the kitchen; tiny, pregnant, and completely adorable. Her blonde hair is stuffed into a clip, the t-shirt is just a smidge too short when she stretches her arms, revealing her barely rounded tummy, and the waistband of her shorts has curled down around her hips.

She pauses, olive halfway to her mouth when she hears the tell-tale sounds of falling ice. "Is that...?"

"I can't buy bags of ice but I did find this." Charlie opens the lid and reaches in to scoop out a couple cubes of the fresh ice to demonstrate before dropping them back in. "It can make up to thirty pounds a day as long as you remember to refill the water."

"I always knew you'd make a good daddy, Cheekbones!" Emily coos, making her way to him. She slings her arms around his waist and happily leans up to kiss his cheek as a thank you for the gift, before squeezing him affectionately.

"Hey," he absently strokes the back of her head, leaning forward to press his mouth to her forehead. "A buddy at work told me his wife craved ice like this for two months while pregnant and she had blood work one. She had an iron deficiency."

"You think that's what this is?" Emily raises a blonde eyebrow at her husband.

"I think it's worth mentioning to your doctor, at least." Charlie murmurs, trailing kisses down the side of her face. "Just see what she says - if she says it's nothing to worry about, I won't mention it again."

"You're lying," but Emily can barely breathe for the feel of his mouth on her collarbone. "But, I'll bring it up, next week."

"Good." Charlie mumbles against her chest. "For now," he blindly reaches for the ice machine to open the lid, again, grabbing an ice cube to suck on. "Let's just enjoy the best sixty dollars I've ever spent."

She's hard-pressed to argue with him. Especially when he tugs her t-shirt over her head and covers her nipple with his cold mouth, sucking hard on the sensitive flesh. The rest of the afternoon is spent on various surfaces in their kitchen, playing with ice as much as they eat it.

Yes.

Definitely money well spent.