It’s exactly what I don’t want, and yet this thing in my chest soars when Lucie looks up, when her eyes come alive. As if she missed me as much as I missed her.
“Well, hello there, Monroe family,” I say, coming to a stop.
“My last name is actually Boudreau,” corrects Sophie, skipping toward me. “Did you know that if you drop a penny from the top of the Empire State Building, it will kill someone?”
Lucie and I exchange a grin. “I’ve heard that,” I say to Sophie. “I didn’t know if it was true.”
“It’s not,” Henry says quietly to Sophie. “The wind resistance slows it. I told you that.”
“Not if an alien is riding on it!” she says with a scowl before stomping ahead. “You don’t know everything, Henry!”
“How the hell does your kindergartner know about wind resistance?” I ask Lucie.
“My friend, Molly,” she says with a smile. “She’s determined to turn them both into scientists. I think Sophie might be a lost cause.”
The twins are arguing loudly about the potential size of an alien. Lucie is still smiling, and it hits me out of nowhere—this wave of longing.
I wish all of this was mine.
20
LUCIE
“You said no life jackets.”
My daughter has her arms folded, and she’s staring me down, as much as someone who is four feet tall can stare down a grown-up.
I groan. “Sophie—”
“You promised.”
I’m not sure I actually promised they could swim without life jackets today. I think I merely suggested it was possible, and now I’d like to suggest it’s not. I’m always outnumbered with them. I could save one drowning child—I can’t save two. But they both know how to dog paddle, and I guess, at some point, it’s sink or swim…literally.
“Okay,” I say with a sigh, and she runs out the back door gleefully, screaming, No life jackets! at the top of her lungs.
I’m grabbing my beach bag to follow them when my phone chimes.
JEREMY
Do you ever bother to even take the kids anywhere, now? Or is it just easier to put them in front of the TV all day?
There’s a brief ping in my gut, as if I should question this text more carefully, because how does he even know we’re home? But there isn’t time, with my kids running headlong toward the water and toward Caleb, who stands on the dock.
A thrill climbs up my spine at the sight of him, only in part because he’s currently shirtless. He has a tattoo high on the back of his shoulder, one I never noticed before. I want to inspect it up close, except if it’s for his wife, I’ll wish I hadn’t. Sophie is talking to him, and when he glances up at me as he replies, I walk a little faster. God only knows what she’s told him.
“Mommy!” she shouts. “Caleb says we can go on his boat, which is way better than ours!”
“Full disclosure,” he says as I approach, “I never claimed my boat was better. That was her.”
He also didn’t suggest this outing. My hands go to my hips. “Sophie, did you ask Mr. Lowell to take us on his boat? Because we’ve discussed this.”
“We call him Caleb,” she scolds. “And he said it was fine.”
“You do not invite yourself into other people’s homes, or onto their boats.”
Caleb shrugs. “It’s okay. I’m not doing anything.”
I still don’t want to reward Sophie for a behavior we’ve had several conversations about, but the twins are already scrambling aboard. “Yes, they’re monsters who will steal your youth and your disposable income,” he adds, “but I doubt your kids can do that from the inside of my boat.”
I’m laughing as I concede. He helps me climb up, his hand warm and rough and so much larger than mine. For just a moment, his eyes are on my face and we’re standing close and my stomach tips, a tiny but thrilling rise and fall.
“Thanks,” I whisper, looking away. It would be a lot easier to stop picturing him as Prince Charming if he’d stop fucking acting like him.
I go to the back and Sophie and Henry snuggle up beside me while Caleb unties the boat then jumps in—surprisingly graceful for his size.
He takes the seat up front and backs away from the dock carefully, his tricep popping when he moves the throttle, his bicep bulging as he grabs the wheel.
Jeremy started going soft months after we got married, while there is nothing soft about Caleb. He’s long and lean, ridiculously muscular for a guy who does nothing but work. I picture him flat on his back, spread out for me like a banquet, and feel a deep pinch of desire, so sharp it steals my breath.