and my phone rings. It’s Sam.”
…
We left the windows down as we drove up the coast toward Waves and Rodanthe Beach. The miles between Hatteras and Waves were filled with unpopulated beaches, the strip of island so narrow at times it felt like I could touch the Atlantic with one hand and the sound with the other.
Jackson’s Land Cruiser reminded me of his house—pristine in the front seats, where he was in charge, and perfectly cluttered in the backseat, where Finley reigned.
Banners’ Riot blared though the speakers, and with Fin singing at the top of her lungs from behind us and Jackson grinning when she got the words wrong, my heart lightened. This was the best reward I could have given myself after listening to the tape. Sure, maybe it had been a week since I’d been this close to Jackson, but I refused to bring that fact into the reward equation. But every time I looked his way, my pulse jumped at the memory of having his mouth inches from mine.
We reached Waves and fell in with a small line of traffic headed for the beach access.
Finley blew hard, moving some of her curls out of her face. “It’s all tangly.”
Jackson met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Then you should have let me pull it up before we left.”
“I didn’t want you to then,” she stated like it was the simplest truth in the world.
“Do you want me to now?”
We pulled into a parking lot that was already three-quarters full and parked.
“Yes, please.”
“Then it’s a good thing I brought a brush and a hair tie, huh?”
She nodded with a little twist of her puckered lips.
We got out of the car, and I sprayed on sunscreen, then hauled my beach bag over my shoulder. The temp had spiked again, bringing us an eighty-degree day.
“Fin, do you need some sunscreen?” I asked, coming around the back of the car.
“Yes, please,” she answered.
My breath caught stupidly at the sight of Jackson working a spray into her hair and then brushing the curls into a high ponytail. It was something so domestic, not in the least bit sexy, but that primal piece of DNA we couldn’t seem to wipe out with thousands of years of evolution sat up and took notice.
Okay, I could admit it: being a good father was insanely attractive on a molecular level.
Shut up, ovaries.
“All done,” Jackson declared.
Finley spun as he bent down, placing a kiss on his cheek in a motion so perfectly timed that it had to be routine. My belly clenched.
There had to be something wrong with this man somewhere. Anywhere. Maybe he squeezed the toothpaste from the center of the tube like a monster or something.
“Okay, what’s first for you ladies? Kiteboarding? Surfing?” Jackson curved the brim of his baseball hat.
Never mind, that was what was wrong with him. Wasn’t there an activity that didn’t require I fall on my ass in the middle of the ocean? Or something with a motor? I’d never been more aware of my indoor-girl status.
“Shirts!” Finley decided.
“Well, shirts it is,” Jackson said, taking her hand in his.
For a split second, I pictured him offering me his other hand.
Because clearly, I’d gone crazy.
“Come on, Fin, let’s show Morgan how we locals open the surf shop for the season.”
“It’s Hawkins Day!” Fin held up her free hand, and I took it.
“It is?” I asked.
“Mary Ann Hawkins was one of the first women’s surfing champions. It’s basically a day where you can learn about the ocean and all the fun stuff you can do in it. There are instructors for just about anything you might want to try,” Jackson explained as the three of us walked down the path to the beach, where hundreds of people were already celebrating, and it seemed like it was about 90 percent women.
“It’s a girl thing,” Finley confirmed.
Jackson met my gaze and shrugged. “I’m here in a purely observational capacity, just like last year.”
A woman crossed in front of us in a swimsuit that wasn’t hiding much.
“I bet you are,” I drawled slowly.
He flashed me a grin.
“Jax!” A tall brunette with chin-length hair waved her hands in the air as she ran our way. Holy crap, I could barely run on a treadmill, and this woman hit the beach like it was pavement.
Wait. Was Jackson seeing someone? We’d never had that conversation. He would have said something, though…right? My stomach sank.
“Miss Tina!” Finley let go of our hands and hugged the woman.
“Hey, Christina.” Jackson greeted her