Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
More dangerous, maybe, because this kiss says a lot of the things I can’t put into words right now. And I can’t avoid the tenderness.
Not when she’s whisper-soft and it tastes like we’re signing a secret pact in quiet, lingering kisses.
This thing with her is unholy.
This thing will skin me alive when it ends.
Until then, I mean every silent word ensouled in my lips.
I’m damn grateful she’s with me, and I get to stay in this house, protecting her from lunatics.
Predictably, just as the heat creeps to my balls, the door flies open behind us and Dan comes bounding onto the porch, followed by Sophie. They both laugh at catching us in the act.
“Seeee?” Sophie croons. “I knew they’d be doing it.”
“Hey.” I don’t let Margot go even though she jerks back from me. There’s no point pretending we weren’t just kissing when we’ve been busted by these nosy little hounds. “What are you two doing?”
“We finished our homework!” Dan says smugly. “Sophie said you guys would be doing it. So I had to come and see.”
“You’re too young to know what that is, little man, and too old to not understand the concept of privacy.” I snort loudly.
“Kissing!” Sophie supplies, her face red. “That’s what he means.”
Margot giggles, one hand covering her mouth, and I can’t help the smile that sneaks out.
The rest of the day’s woes fade as I grab my son in a headlock and ruffle his hair until he’s begging for mercy.
“Dad! Dad, no! I swear I won’t mess with you again. It was Sophie’s idea!”
Big promises from a boy who loves drama more than a seventy-year-old barfly.
“Okay, you two,” I say. “Now that you’re done sneaking around, how about a movie?”
15
HOME STRETCH (MARGOT)
In the end, we settle into Moana and a nice sense of normalcy.
Kane gets the kids hunkered down with blankets, the doors and windows firmly locked, while I whip up a quick blueberry sauce for ice cream.
After I heard about the Babins and their crazy business, I wanted to toss all the blueberries they gave us, but that seemed like a waste.
Now, as I bring the blueberry sundaes into the room, I’m glad I kept our stockpile. Dan and Sophie’s eyes light up like Christmas.
“It’s not Dole Whip fit for the movie, but it’s pretty tasty,” I say, handing them both heaping bowls.
We share grins.
I think it helps ground them back in Maine, quieting their chatter about jetting off to Hawaii or French Polynesia to live out their adventure fantasies as Maui belts out songs on the TV.
Oh, to be nine years old again.
Also, it’s official, I’ll do anything to keep these kids happy.
“Come the hell here,” Kane whispers under his breath, holding out his arm, and I snuggle underneath it as the movie rolls on.
Sophie sneaks me a shy knowing smile I pretend not to notice.
Yes, they’re basically in on the big secret—and they’ll know we’re lying if we pretend we’re not ‘doing it,’ in their innocent little words.
I bite back a laugh.
On one hand, it’s a relief. Sneaking around for kisses made me feel eighteen again, like something fun and dirty and illicit. Something to keep from prying little eyes.
But Kane admitted we only have a week left.
Hardly enough time for us to be anything. I’m worried that little Sophie especially might get the wrong idea.
She said ‘girlfriend’ when she came to see me that night.
But I’m not his girlfriend.
I’m not anything.
And Kane, he’s just safe, all delicious scruff and calloused fingers playing absently across the skin of my arm as we watch the film.
Less than an hour in, Sophie looks like she’s drifting off. She jerks awake every time the music blares with another song.
Dan keeps his eyes glued to the screen, no doubt dreaming of far-off journeys, even if they won’t be as wild as Moana’s.
I miss this age, though.
Back when an animated movie could stir a thousand hopes and magic still felt real.
They’re not trying to grow up too fast like so many kids. That’s wonderful.
In a couple more years, things will be different, I’m sure.
Social media throws children into adulthood.
Soon, they’ll hit puberty and start caring a whole lot more what people think about them. They’ll worry about every selfie and dumb comment, and whether it’ll sink them if some other little brat decides to record it and post it in a group chat.
They’ll measure time in friends and followers.
They won’t count the good days—not consciously—when there isn’t another care in the world besides the next laugh with their awesome dad or close friends who feel like extended family.
I know I didn’t with Ethan, Hattie, and Gramps.
Feels like only yesterday when we’d hunker around the fireplace with PopPop here while he read us dramatic stories with Greek heroes and scary minotaurs. Honestly, I think he made up half the tales he told or heavily embellished old myths.