“Like a hard pillow,” he explains, which doesn’t explain much at all. I laugh again, Desmond joining in this time. He adds, “I could tell just by the look of you that you were going to be a good hugger. Good huggers usually make good cuddlers. I don’t make the rules, Jacko.”
“Fair enough.” I smile at the compliment. Hopefully being hard-pillow-shaped will mean I get to have more nights and mornings like this.
“I suppose we better get up,” Desmond says, sighing. “If breakfast isn’t ready for Parker when he wakes up, he’ll riot.”
After one more affectionate rub of his palm across my shoulders, he extracts his hand from my shirt and rolls away from me, onto his back. Reluctantly, I let him, even though I want to clutch him tighter and never let go. He smiles whenour eyes meet, looking fresh and beautiful and a little bit sleep-rumpled. His curls are in chaos, snagging his fingers when he tries to brush a hand through. I blush as I watch him, staggered that a real person could be this lovely.
He yawns as he sits up, scrubbing his palms over his face. It sets me off yawning, too, even though I can’t remember ever being so well rested as I feel right now.
“You want to shower or anything?” he asks me, sliding out of the bed and stretching his back. His shirt pulls up a bit, showing a sliver of belly. I think maybe next time we do this, I’ll try stickingmyhands uphisshirt.
“Uhm, maybe.” I probably should, if only because I’m worried now that I was sweating all night. I don’t want to stink, and I don’t want to worry about stinking all day.
“Go for it,” he tells me, pulling a pair of sweats over his boxers. I stare at his legs as they disappear, mouth dry at the sight of the tan line on his thigh.
Before he goes, he leans over the bed toward me. I suck in a sharp breath as his face nears mine, but he merely presses a quick kiss to my temple. He’s gone a second later, slipping quietly out the bedroom door and shutting it softly behind him.
I can still feel the touch of his lips on my skin a half hour later, showered and wearing clean clothes, as I make my way out of the bedroom and down the hall. I’d woken up so sure of my presence here, but some of that certainty has chipped away—eroded by the shower, and too many minutes alone with my thoughts. When Desmond is around, my brain is so quiet. So normal. But the moment he’s gone, my thoughts buzz back to life, and they are rarely on my side.
I can hear Parker talking in the kitchen. When I round the corner, him and Desmond both have their backs to me,standing together at the counter while bacon sizzles on the stove. Desmond laughs at whatever Parker said, the sound rich and loud over the sounds of breakfast cooking. They look so much like a father and son, with their curly brown hair, and same narrow build. From behind, Desmond looks like a taller version of his nephew.
“Jack!” Parker yells, turning around and catching sight of me. “You’re still here! Do you want bacon?”
“Sure,” I agree, stepping closer and feeling the awkwardness bleeding out of me the nearer I get. Parker abandons Desmond at the stove, waving me over to the dining room table where he’s got his homework spread out.
“You’re coming to the aquarium, right?” he asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer before sliding a brochure in front of me and continuing. He’s breathless with excitement. “We can touch stingrays. And dolphins. Also, they have atiger.”
“Exploitation,” Desmond mutters under his breath. Parker glances at his uncle and grins at me.
“I’m excited to see the tiger,” he says, needling Desmond a little bit and earning a beleaguered sigh. Honestly, I’m pretty excited to see a tiger, too, but I’m sure as hell not going to say it out loud.
“You have to go for school?” I ask Parker. I never got to go cool places when I was in school, although I think that had more to do with money than anything.
“Yeah, it’s like a writing-project thing,” he replies carelessly. “But we’re mostly going for fun.”
“We’re mostly going for school,” Desmond corrects, turning around to point his spatula at him threateningly. The effect is ruined slightly by the way his face brightens as a thought occurs to him. “We could get matching shirts from the gift shop, though.”
“Sure,” Parker agrees sarcastically, “if you want to be a loser.”
I bite back a laugh, ducking my head as Desmond returns to the stove, sighing. Parker continues pointing out things on the aquarium brochure, apparently extremely excited about the field trip. After Desmond puts a plate in front of him, he starts shoving food into his mouth so rapidly, one would think he hadn’t eaten in days.
“Chew, little man,” Desmond reminds him, puffing out his cheeks when Parker tries to mumble something back, bits of egg falling out of his mouth. I’ve never seen a messier eater.
The aquarium ends up being fun for everyone. Even Desmond, who strolls through the exhibits with a pained look on his face, manages to enjoy himself, although he flat-out refuses to touch the stingrays or dolphins. I stand back with him, watching as Parker edges his way to the pool and shoves his hand in the water. An employee manning the exhibit approaches us, smiling.
“You’re welcome to get closer if you want! Nothing in the pool is dangerous.” Desmond scowls at her, although he’s too cute for it to be particularly menacing.
“Wild animals aren’t meant to be kept in cages or aquariums, and a petting zoo is nothing but exploitation and abuse for profit,” he tells her. Blushing, but also feeling like I might laugh, I rock back on my heels and look anywhere but at the employee’s shocked expression.
“Oh, well…conservation and knowledge are two of our pillars of excellence. We strive to educate the public and bring awareness to these beautiful creatures.” Her effort to bring this conversation back onto comfortable ground is blown to smithereens as Desmond pounces on her pillars of excellence and destroys them.
“What sort of conservation are you involved in? And how do you obtain these ‘beautiful creatures’? Were they bred in captivity, or were they caught in the wild? I didn’t see anything about reintroduction programs or rehabilitation when I waseducatingmyself with your literature. You certainly can’t release these animals”—he gestures toward the pool, where Parker is currently leaning over the wall to pet a dolphin—“after you’ve allowed human contact. But why not, right? Good way to get money for all theconservation.”
And that is my cue to bail, I think, edging away and walking over to Parker. He sees me coming and smiles.
“You’re super red,” he comments, glancing behind me. “Is Desmond yelling at the aquarium people?”
“Yeah. He’s a little scary,” I tell him, making him snort.
