two teenaged girls are waiting to either rent a boat or find an excuse to talk to him.
“I’ll swing by the bonfire later and check on them,” Archer tells me, tossing the empty milk container into the trash.
“Thanks. Did Dean go to Java Works?”
“Yeah, he said he’d meet you there.”
After saying goodbye to him and Nicholas, I take out my phone and send my son a quick “I love you” text, so I won’t embarrass him by actually saying it in front of other people.
As I walk to Java Works, I realize that both our children have plans for the evening, which means Dean and I will have several hours alone together.
Ooo. Nice. Very nice.
A flutter of warmth travels through my blood. I approach the coffeehouse, the warmth intensifying as I see a certain handsome professor standing on the sidewalk near the door. He’s looking across the street, his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts and his body relaxed as he leans his shoulder against a lamppost.
Even now, all these years after we first met, my pulse still quickens at the sight of him, my heart rising like a balloon into a clear blue sky. His features are strong in profile, his thick, dark hair threaded with silver, his jaw shadowed with scruff.
He’s not teaching summer classes this year, so his hair is a little longer and messier, and his skin is tanned golden brown from all the time he’s spending outside—working in the garden; kayaking, hiking, and fishing with Archer and Nicholas; two weeks in Monterey with Bella volunteering for a marine wildlife organization, and most recently, coaching a sports club for at-risk kids.
He turns his head, as if he senses my approach—of course he does—and our eyes meet with the hot tenderness that belongs to us alone.
Dean smiles his beautiful, hint-of-wicked smile, his eyes creasing at the corners. He extends his arm to me.
“Hey, beauty.”
“Hi, professor.”
I tuck myself against his side and wrap my arms around his waist. The scent of him—sun, wind, summertime—fills my head. Dean hugs me against him, bending to brush his lips across my temple.
“Good day?” he asks.
“Good day.”
Good life.
We go inside to order our coffees and take them to a table by the window. In some ways, it’s like the days we used to spend at Jitter Beans, after I’d finish a shift and join Dean at the table where he’d been sitting for a couple of hours.
“Pretending to work,” he once told me, “but really sneaking glances at you.”
We’d spend another hour talking about everything and secretly wondering how we could extend the time so we didn’t have to leave each other. Now, we no longer wonder that because we don’t have to leave each other at all.
My phone buzzes with a text from Bella informing me she has to be at the mall in half an hour. As we sometimes do, Dean and I obey our daughter’s summons and return to the Butterfly House.
Fitzy Darcy, seventy pounds of happy, tail-wagging dog, bounds up to meet us. Bella follows with a pleading look on her face.
“Can I please get a ride home from Cara?” she asks. “It’s just so embarrassing when I’m the only one whose Dad picks her up from the movies.”
“I could wear a disguise,” Dean suggests, scratching Fitzy behind the ears. “Fake glasses and a mustache.”
Not dignifying that with a response, Bella turns to me. “Please, Mom?”
Dean and I exchange glances and come to an agreement. We’ve known Cara and her family since she and Nicholas were in fourth grade together, and she’s a responsible, trustworthy girl.
“All right,” I agree. “But only if Cara is driving.”
“And text us when you’re leaving so we know when to expect you home,” Dean adds.
“I will, I promise.” Bella comes over to hug me. “Thank you so much.”
“Have fun.” I squeeze my daughter tightly and send up my usual silent prayer for the universe to keep her safe. “And be careful.”
She hurries out to the car. Dean picks up his keys and glances at his watch.
“Guess I’ll stop by the hardware store after dropping her off,” he says. “I need a new lawnmower battery.”
“Nicholas is working late, then going to a bonfire,” I tell him, tapping my fingers on the counter.
“Okay. I’ll also get some new brackets for the shelving in the—” He stops and looks at me with interest. “Both kids are going out tonight?”
I nod slowly. “I was thinking we should use the time to clean out the basement