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Sunlight started to peek through the bedroom curtains but Oliver Wood wasn’t quite ready to get up just yet. His hand blindly searched the bedside table for his wand, waving it slightly at the window once he found it while his head was still resting on the pillow. The curtains closed all the way and he put his wand back on the table before rolling over to pull his wife closer to him. But she wasn’t there. Cracking an eye open, he saw the spot she usually occupied was cold and empty. Sitting up, he ran a hand through his hair, listening carefully to see if he could figure just where she might be. When he heard the oven timer go off, he knew now where to look. Pushing the blankets off, he stood up and slowly made his way downstairs. He stopped in the kitchen doorway as the scent of fresh baked cookies greeted him warmly. Leaning against the doorframe, arms folded across his bare chest, he watched his wife.

Most women who were eight months pregnant would be content to sleep in and lounge about the house instead of waking up before dawn to bake enough for a small army. But not Emilie Wood. She wasn’t content if someone else was in her kitchen cooking, especially if it was Oliver. So he wasn’t too terribly surprised as he watched her pull what looked to be the fifth tray of cookies from the oven. Her long chestnut curls were pulled up into a messy ponytail with a few curls falling down into her eyes. There was a flour streak across her cheek and, it seemed, a bit in her hair. Despite the disheveled appearance she was sporting, the kitchen was practically spotless, no mess anywhere in sight. She’d always hated having a messy kitchen, even when she was cooking. Setting the cookie sheet on the counter, she wiped her hands on the apron before putting yet another tray into the oven and setting the timer. Finally glancing at the doorway, she spotted Oliver and found herself smiling sweetly at him. 

“Morning, dear,” she said, waving her wand at the tea kettle so that it floated over to the stove and started to boil. Her hands instinctively went to her ever growing stomach for a moment as the baby girl she was expecting gave a small kick. She did that every time Oliver was around. It was almost as if she knew her father was in the room and she wanted all his attention. Oliver stepped into the room, walking over to his wife. His arm wound around her back while his other hand rested on her stomach, feeling his daughter kicking lightly. He smiled brightly before leaning down and kissing her sweetly on the lips. Her hand rested lightly on his chest before pulling away from the chaste kiss. She pecked his cheek and turned back to what she’d been working on before he’d come downstairs.
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        
Oliver didn’t remove his arms from where they were wrapped around her waist, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder as he watched her roll the dough in her hands. She didn’t mind, leaning back against him a bit while she worked. In a few minutes, she’d filled another tray with cookies waiting to be made. He glanced down the counter at all the other trays filled with already baked goods and asked, “Just how long have you been up?”

“Since five,” she answered simply. She could practically feel the surprised look he’d been giving her as she continued, “I couldn’t sleep so I figured I’d get a head start on some of the orders from the shop. Plus I still needed to make the stuff to take to my mum’s house for the family dinner this weekend. Oh, and your ‘special’ cookies are on the table, waiting for you.”

He let out a small laugh as he kissed the top of her head and reached for one of the cookies that were fresh from the oven. She smacked his hand away before he was halfway there. He pouted and, even though she wasn’t looking at him, she let out a light laugh. Letting her go, he went to the small table they kept in the kitchen and grabbed one of the cookies she’d made just for him. This one was shaped like a Quaffle. She’d been doing this for years, making him cookies in the shape of various Quidditch related items. She always did it the week of an important game as a way to keep him in good spirits. It had started when they were in their fifth year at Hogwarts and he’d become the captain of the Gryffindor team. She’d done it for him when they were just friends, when they’d started dating right after he’d been hired by Puddlemere United, and now, even when she was practically waddling around the house and supposed to be in bed, taking it easy. It was something he loved about her and made his teammates a bit jealous which was just as good. Biting into the cookie, he sat down on one of the stools and watched her work. 

In all his life, Oliver had never found cooking interesting. When he was a child, his mother would shoo him from the room while she was making meals. His grandmother had tried to get him to help her make a cake for his father once when he was little but he got distracted by the older boys playing Quidditch next door and had run outside to join them. But when Emilie was working in the kitchen, he was fascinated. He’d never met anyone who was as comfortable in a kitchen as she was. When they were still in Hogwarts, she would sneak off to the kitchens on the weekends to try out new recipes she’d found. The house elves all loved to help her and she loved having her own little staff. Right after graduation, she’d acquired a small bakery in Diagon Alley with her cousin and had been running it ever since. Their house constantly smelled of sweet treats and whenever he came home from Quidditch practice she’d have something waiting for him, whether she was actually at home or not. 

“Ollie, you’re staring,” Emilie stated, pulling her from his thoughts. He looked up at his wife’s face to find her looking back at him with an eyebrow quirked. “It can be a bit unnerving sometimes.”

His nose wrinkled a bit at the nickname he’d never been very fond of. His mother had used it when he was a child and when Emilie had first heard her call him that, she’d thought it was adorable and had been using it ever since. She was the only person he let use the name. Anyone else who tried usually had something thrown at them five seconds later. With a charming smile, he told her, “I just like to watch my beautiful wife work. It’s …intriguing.”

“Sweet but you’re gonna have to try harder is you want some of these,” she told him, knowing his angle in the sweet talking although she did appreciate it. 

“Oh is that so?” he asked, a mischievous glint flashing in his eyes. 

“Yep,” she answered, her eyes mirroring his.

“Well then, I should get to work.” Oliver slid off the stool and pulled Emilie from her work, circling his arms around her. He began to place kisses all over from the tip of her nose to that sensitive spot right behind her ear. She let out a small sigh as she felt playfully nibble on the soft part of her neck right below her ear. Her arms rested on his broad shoulders and her fingers began to draw shapes aimlessly on his back. He slipped one hand up to her hair, pulling the elastic out before tangling his fingers in her long curls. She leaned against the counter as he moved further down her neck, nipping the hollow point between her neck and shoulder before going back up to her lips for a long kiss. Her hands tugged playfully at the bottom of his hair before bringing them around to rest against his bare chest. He pushed some of the cooling cookies out of the way before scooping her up and setting her on the counter with an ease that still surprised her. His teeth tugged mischievously at her bottom lip and a light giggle escaped her mouth, muffled by the kiss.

Neither of them noticed the harsh whistle coming from the tea kettle or the oven timer going off.

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