so I unwrap the plastic utensils before cutting into the meat. I take my first bite and groan at the delicious flavor.
“Can’t blame a man like Gabe for wanting you.” He sighs, and I feel the weight of his eyes on the side of my face. His glance falls to my lips after I finish another bite. “You’re sort of perfect.”
I swallow the remaining piece in my mouth before teasing him in return. “Only sort of?”
“I wasted a night,” he whispers. His voice is full of regret. “Actually, two.” I immediately recall all the touches and kisses over the past week. The way he caresses my body, outlines my form, and touches my skin sets me ablaze. I’m a live wire near him, always waiting to connect with something and spark.
He glances out at the street and watches as a family, laden with beach gear, walks past the house. The couple waves, and Jess lifts a hand in recognition.
“Where’s Katie?” I ask before I stick my fork into the tender poultry once more.
“My mom has her at the beach. I need to get there soon for the sandcastle building competition. Champion designer right here,” he teases, patting at his light gray tee-covered chest. “Come with me. Forgive me again, if you can. Spend the day with us.”
“Your stubbornness is unnerving,” I mock, bumping his shoulder with mine to let him know I’m teasing him. However, the back and forth is a little unsettling, and my emotions are all over the place.
“And you’re pushy,” he retorts as he wraps an arm over my shoulder and tugs me to him. His lips meet mine briefly. “But I like it when you push me. You unnerve me.”
There’s a compliment in his voice, but like so many things about this man, I can’t get a solid read on it.
I eat more of the chicken and slaw, and once I’ve had enough, Jess and I stand so we can make our way to the beach. He takes my bag from my shoulder, slings it over his, and then takes my hand as though he’s announcing to every person we pass that I’m his.
I’m his, if only for the day.
I’m too old for a summer romance but the memories of dalliances from long ago filter through my head. The all-consuming emotions wrapped up in someone from another place for only a limited period. The now. The sense of urgency fueled by the ticking clock and the off-the-charts passion when inhibitions are removed. The moments that pass as you ignore the end approaching.
Once we arrive at the crowded beach, we quickly find Katie with Tricia and Jess’s mother. Buckets and toy shovels litter the space around them.
“Presenting Princess Katie,” I call out as we near, and Katie looks up at me. She stands up, quickly closes the distance between us, and reaches out to hug my legs. I bend at the waist, curling over her, and I’m overwhelmed by how much I will miss this little girl. I blink quickly at the sudden rush of tears and rub her back before she breaks free from me.
Katie scrambles back to the spot in the sand she’s been digging in, and Jess falls to his knees near her.
“Time to build my princess a castle,” he teases. He gives directions on filling buckets and sends Katie to find twigs for drawbridges and pebbles to line the edges of the castle. I sit back and observe the science behind Jess’s structure. He isn’t wrong. He’s a champion builder.
His mother sits nearby and regales me with tales of Jess as a child. Tricia adds in her own memories of hanging out on the beach as a teen. The stories remind me of the rightness of this family, and the love they feel for one another. When Mary mentions her deceased husband, she smiles fondly, but I hear the sadness infused in her voice. She lost her husband too young and to such senseless tragedy. It’s a reminder to soak up the small minutes because we never know when something will end.
Jess finishes building, and Katie sits back to admire his masterpiece.
I lean forward, and question, “Good enough for a princess? Perhaps Princess Katie lives in a castle like this.” My comment is a reminder of the story we wrote together. Katie looks up at me, eyes wide with recognition.
“Katie’s excited for the fireworks tonight,” Tricia interjects as if her niece has told her such a thing.
“Fireworks?” I repeat the word in question.