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It’s been a while since you last had a moment to yourself. At first, whole Beatlemania, girls going feral over a bunch of musicians, then - Beatles breakup. Contrary to appearances, you liked to call it divorce, because it did feel like a divorce. George sprinting to sign papers, fans going crazy, Ringo losing himself and John getting mad at Paul for making it official and public. Whatever he wanted him to do… Not like you really cared, everybody would know about it in no time. You shook your head, as to get it free from old memories, focusing your mind on your current activity - making breakfast. After “The Beatles era” it was… Weirdly calm. George went away, seeking his own musical reawakening, John focused on Yoko, Ringo tried finding himself and Paul… Thinking of him, you looked down on your wedding ring. Right after the breakup of the band, he suggested moving out of your then house. It was still your house, but currently both of you were staying in Scotland - far from others, surrounded by animals and nature in all its glory. You didn’t complain much. Of course, it was definitely something much different than living in Liverpool or London, but you enjoyed staying in bed till noon and reading books in sunlight. Not to mention that you started enjoying sunbaths more and more.
“Why didn’t yeh wake me up?” You heard a voice right behind you and almost jumped, knife landing right next to your fingers sticky from tomato. Soon, you felt two strong arms snaking themselves around you, warm palms caressing your pregnant stomach. It was also one of the reasons you decided to leave your old house for a while.
“You deserved more sleep after shaving the sheep all afternoon yesterday. Besides,” you looked over your shoulder to check if your husband still had those awful dark circles under the eyes. Surprisingly, he looked much better than yesterday. “You slept like a baby… And looked like one. If only you could see what you look like when you sleep…” You shook your head which only made Paul whine a bit, his nose finding its way to the crock of your neck.
“It’s almost twelve, luv, I was s’posed to finish the deal with that stubborn goat. Yeh know which one-...” He yawned, momentarily hiding his face behind your back - he was aware of your current sensitivity to odors. “That one which keeps on bangin’ its head against the fence.” he finished speaking, only to rest his bearded chin on your shoulder and pat your stomach with his hands, which only made you jump. In response, he chuckled against your neck, but it soon ended, as you started pushing him away with your elbow.
“Oh my god, Paul,” You complained loudly. “I’m trying to make breakfast and all you do is making it more difficult as it should be.” You huffed at him which made him laugh, again.
“Okay, okay, sorry, dear.” With that, you were finally able to finish preparing breakfast. It wasn’t anything fancy, it wasn't a five star restaurant meal. With a sigh, you placed two plates on the table, each with a few sandwiches. For you two, for Paul three. Each with something else. One with cheese, another one with cottage cheese and tomato… And an extra one with jam.
“Yah sure ya don’t want me to make you one more sandwich?” Paul asked and you gently giggled in response, giving him a slight shake of your head.
“No, no. I’m fine, I already ate a bit while making breakfast. That’s my second meal.” You promised, your hand finding his on the table, fingers interwinked.
It was a great start of a day, but before you could enjoy your morning for a little longer, it was time to work a bit outside. Naturally, before you even left the house, Paul made sure to assign you a less demanding job like planting flowers. Of course, he insisted on this, because all lifting was forbidden by a doctor. Okay, doctors. Paul was stubborn and insisted on having the opinion of several doctors regarding the entire course of the pregnancy. Either way, you loved him immensely, the feeling was mutual, and McCartney always made a point of showing you how much he loved you and how much he would do for you. Maybe that's why he hasn't shaved his beard yet. God bless Liverpool.
Honestly, it was the greatest miracle that Paul let you feed some animals. Last week, he was not scared, he was practically frightened by the idea of letting you be alone with animals, especially this crazy goat of his, which kept on banding its head against both fence and other poor animals. This time you decided on begging him till he practically gave up and let you do your part of work. Great success.
“Oh, who’s the most fluffy sheep, huh?” You cooed at one particularly small lamb, which was looking at you rather funny, as if to understand the situation and who on earth was trying to feed it. It had such soft fur... And it still needed help eating, having recently been weaned. What a sweet little lamb.
Convinced there wasn't enough hay, you decided to take one larger bag and carry it from the barn to the pen, where mostly sheep and their young were kept. Nevertheless, the gesture didn't go unnoticed by Paul. Of course, he only noticed what you were doing when you were praying for fate to ignore you and do something else. It was only a few pounds, for god’s sake!
“Ay! Put it down, lass! Nice and slow!” You heard your husband’s voice and only huffed in response. Not waiting to fight further, you decided to lean down and lay down a bag of hay you were holding. You were still convinced it wasn’t that heavy. You had heavier things to carry while being pregnant, for example a bag of potatoes last week or… Or a whole basket of washed clothes to hang outside! Wet clothes were definitely heavier than a bit of hay.
“Okay, okay!” You lifted your hands up, as to let your partner see that you in fact, put hay down. “It’s down, calm down, cowboy.”
“I thought I asked yeh to not carry heavy stuff?” He reminded, getting closer to you and lifting a bag up, using one hand. He used one hand and still thought you wouldn’t manage with two hands? Such a fun killer.
“It is not that bad, Paul. I just wanted to get more hay for lambs.” As on cue, two of the lambs decided to let out a soft, almost wobbly “baa!” sound, as to remind Paul of their existence and that they were hungry.
“See? I've told you so, they were starving.” You crossed your arms over your chest, giving Paul a small scoff as he leaned down to feed the lambs on his own. It was supposed to be your work, not his.
“And you were supposed to do your ‘heavy work for men’?” In response, he almost laughed, patting both lambs on their wool covered bodies.
“Plans have changed and I’m dead tired already. It’s almost sunset.”
“Time to head home?”
“Time to head home.”
Shortly after the plan was approved, you both returned home and decided to take a bath together, ostensibly to conserve water. Baths with Paul were always a pleasure - he always sat right behind you, let you lie on his chest, and when necessary, he was the first to wash your back or hair. In moments like these, you remembered why you married him in the first place. You saw in him the potential to be a responsible and good father. Especially while he gently carried your protruding stomach, whispering soft nothings to it while laying in bed or on grass.
Even though the bath wasn't long, it left you both feeling relaxed. Your previously tense muscles were finally loosened, and you could finally breathe a sigh of relief. Lying in bed, you took a moment to read a novel your husband had given you for last Christmas, and when the first stars began to shine outside, you decided to put away the unnecessary distractions and sink into each other's arms, falling asleep snuggled up against each other.