Go Away, Darling - Alexis Anne Page 0,56

of me. “Let’s take this one at a time.”

“Wise.”

What the what? “You need a brother or sister?”

“Yes. I am growing up alone. You have Aunt Summer and Chris has Ben and Scott. I won’t have that when I’m old like you.”

“I’m not old!”

Linc looked everywhere but at me, the little stinker.

“You’ll have friends. You’ll have me and your father. Your life is completely different from mine.”

His eyes narrowed. “But it would be better with a brother or sister. Don’t you like Chris?”

I sputtered. “Of course I like him. But that’s very different from marrying someone. Spending the rest of your life with them.” I did not point out that I wasn’t spending my life with Beau.

Parenting had become obscenely complicated!

“If you like him and he likes you...why not get married? You’re his favorite person. Besides me, of course. And I know you like him.”

There were too many things to tackle at once. For some reason I grabbed onto the last thing he said. “How do you know I like him...like that?”

My devilish offspring took a bite of pasta and chewed slowly. Then he gulped down more milk, finally smiling up at me sweetly. “Because when Chris comes over you’re happier. Because when you see him you smile real big like when you see me. And, mostly, because when we’re all together it feels good.”

When we’re all together it feels good. I couldn’t argue with that. And I didn’t want to.

Linc’s dinner statements threw me for a loop. I stared at the ceiling for half the night. I zombied my way through breakfast and walking to school. The warm walk helped clear the cobwebs from my brain.

I always wanted more kids.

And holding Chris’s hand rekindled all the tingles and zings I’d tried so hard to repress. It was just so...overwhelming. Like my brain disconnected from my body and my heart took over. Well, my heart and my body. It was some sort of combined effort to launch me physically at Chris. I didn’t like the feeling of being out of control, but I very much liked the feeling of being near Chris.

I never felt anything so powerful with Beau.

So, long story short, I was scared. Scared, scared, scared.

But also excited, because all of this waiting and separation was to test whether we had the kind of relationship that could survive baseball and divorce and kids. The surest sign we did, in fact, have staying power was the fact that it was Linc who wanted me to marry Chris.

Clearly my kid had no qualms about his “best friend’s” staying power.

And I had to admit, Chris was here rain or shine. He made the extra effort. He always came home. That was my biggest worry—that he’d grow sick of the island and leave just like my parents and Beau. Every day it became clearer to me that Chris and I were cut from the same cloth. Different parts, but the same fabric bound us together. He’d become part of our family whether I consciously acknowledged it or not.

He was here to stay.

So the only question now was: did he stay as a friend or as more?

Luckily Berlin was home for the weekend and we had our regular lunch date scheduled. After I popped into the history museum under the canopy of oaks and pines, I made my way to the patio of The Red Tourist. Berlin was already sitting at a table under a red umbrella near the end, looking at a menu.

“Did Clint change the menu?”

“No,” she sighed, closing the large plastic covered tri-fold. “I’m just in a mood and I thought looking at things would help me decide.”

“You’re going to get salad. You always get the salad.”

“I know,” she grumbled. Today she wore loose white shorts with thin blue stripes, a matching blue tank top, and strappy brown leather sandals. Her hair was up in a braided bun that looked straight out of a science fiction movie.

“So what’s with the mood?”

She twisted her lips off to the side. “My sisters don’t like Ryker.”

I tried not to make a face, but I’m pretty sure I failed because she groaned and slumped in her chair. “You too?”

“He’s...different. But you like him and he seems nice. So maybe we just need to get used to different.”

“Is it the polo shirts?”

I winced. “Yes and no. It’s more what the polo shirts represent.” He always wore polo shirts. Always. Not sometimes. Casual lunch? Polo shirt. Date night? Polo shirt. Saturday morning? Polo shirt. Walk on the