Page 45 of Calamity Rayne Knocked Up

“Ray?”

“Oh, my God.”

“What is it? Should we Facetime? I can’t see your face.”

“Tyler… I’m pregnant.”

Turns Out, I Can Grow Things

Ikept the news to myself for three whole days. Marta, Tyler, Willow, and my doctor, who confirmed the results, were the only people who knew I had a bun in the oven. Keeping such a big secret waskillingme, but I wanted to tell Hale in person. Thank God he was on his way home.

I dropped Elara off at Remington’s for an impromptu sleepover. It always gave me a little thrill when I hijacked his plans for some surprise grandpa time. He bitched and moaned, but then he melted because, let’s face it, Elara was irresistible.

As soon as I got home, I got to cooking—not something I usually did--but this was a special occasion. Hale was scheduled to arrivein less than an hour and it had been a while since I used my culinary skills, so I needed every second.

The baby spinach salad was prepped, the baby carrots were glazed and ready to go in the skillet, and the baby back ribs were already roasting in the oven. It didn’t take a genius to sense the theme. But in case Hale missed it, I also made a playlist—all songs with baby in the title.

As the Supremes croonedBaby Love,I carefully wrapped the baby hotdogs in their little blankets because nothing screamed pregnancy like little wieners swaddled in pastry. For dessert, I picked up two baby cakes from Chef Dubois—one with pink frosting and one with blue.

The table was set, and things looked good, but something smelled off. I rushed to the kitchen and sniffed the air, trying to locate the culprit. The ribs were cooking nicely, and carrots were bubbling on the stove. Everything was calm. So why did I smell smoke?

I scanned the kitchen, not seeing anything out of the ordinary. Then, I tracked the smell to the dining room but found nothing amiss. The table looked fine, and all the taper candles werestraight—“Oh shit!”

I ran into the living room and found the source of smoke. A pillar candle I had set on the side table flickered with a five-inch flame, singing the corner of some work of art that probably cost more than my car.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I blew out the candle and pulled the heavy frame off the wall. Flames climbed up the canvas, melting the gilded frame.

I held the painting between my outstretched arms, angling it away from my face, and spun in a circle, not sure what to do. “Oh, no!”

The center of the portrait bubbled with a heat blister and opened as the flame melted through the underside. The smoke detector started to blare.

“What do I do?” I panicked and rushed through the smoky living room toward the back door. Wrenching open the glass, careful not to catch myself on fire in the process, I screamed. The highly flammable oil paint blazed like a torch the second the wind came into play, and I screamed.

“Son of a bitch!” I hurled the painting into the pool the second I smelled burnt hair and the flames went out with a hiss.

Panting for breath, I stared at the floatingwork of art as it singed on the surface. “Well, that’s ruined.”

I dusted off my hands and went back inside to beat the smoke detector off the ceiling with a broomstick. Coughing, I shut off the air conditioning and opened the windows to air out the house. Then, I made sure there were no more fire hazards.

The front door opened just as Mariah Carey kicked offAlways Be My Baby.“Rayne?”

A little frazzled, I rushed to greet Hale. “Hey. Welcome home.” I untied my apron and tossed it behind me into the kitchen.

Hale glanced around the house at the candles and sniffed the air. “Is something burning?”

“I made dinner.” Rising on my tippy-toes, I pressed a kiss to his lips and took his bags, setting them by the door. “Come have a seat.”

“What’s the occasion?” He asked as I towed him toward the table. “Why are all the doors open?”

“I was in the mood for some fresh air. Do you want some wine?”

“Sure.” He stopped and did a double take of this set table. “Are we having company?”

“Nope. Just us. Elara’s at your dad’s for the night.”

He frowned. “Anniversary’s in April. We started dating in June. Your birthday’s in May. Why do I feel like I’m forgetting something?”

I cut him off as he made his way to the wine fridge. “I’ll get it. What kind do you want?”

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