These two men are my bedrock and my foundation, unshakeable even in the face of the most devastating earthquakes.
They’ve proven that to me.
More importantly?
They’ve proven it to our children.
We arrive at the restaurant, a fantastic seafood place on Manasota Beach, just across the road from the public beach. When we park, it’s Nolan who helps me out of the car and leads the way upstairs, holding my hand while Arlo holds my other and follows us. There’s not a hint of hesitation or nervous tension in either of them.
Even when we enter the restaurant and walk up to the hostess station, they’re both still holding my hands.
Me?
I’m sure I’m grinning like a maniac.
We’re led to our table, where both my men hold my chair for me and help me scoot it in.
They talk about our progress with the house, about our next scheduled visit with the builder this coming week, where we’re going to nail down the final details of the new house’s actual layout so the architect can start working on them, about the surprise weekend trip to Disney for the kids—including Caine—that we’re going to take next month.
I sit back, smiling as I peruse the menu and listen to my men talk.
This is a sweet perfection, my dreams come true.
You know what?
It’s even better than I could have ever hoped for.
* * * *
After dinner, the sun has set and the moon is out. We drop our leftover containers in the car, I leave my purse there, and the men pull off their shoes and socks and lock them in, too.
I was going to take my shoes off, but Nolan and Arlo conspire and Nolan carries me, piggyback, across the road and over the boardwalk through the dunes to the public beach. All three of us are laughing and giggling. Before Nolan lets me down, Arlo removes my shoes for me.
The sound of the waves gently lapping at the shore is the perfect background soundtrack. They both roll up the legs of their slacks, and with me holding the hem of my skirt up, and Arlo carrying my shoes, we walk hand-in-hand over the firm-packed sand at the surf line.
“Think we could get away with beach sex here?” Arlo asks.
Nolan laughs. “I wouldn’t want to risk it here. Too many nosy retirees.”
The water is beautifully warm as it licks at our feet and ankles. I’m holding Nolan’s left hand with my right, and I feel the ring on his finger.
“I keep wanting to think a shoe’s going to drop,” I admit.
“Something’s always going to happen,” Arlo says. “That’s life. The known factors wedon’thave to worry about are Bill and Jerilyn.”
“I wonder if she ever left Bill,” Arlo muses.
“Not our circus, not our monkeys,” I lightly shoot back.
“I could always poke around on Facebook,” Nolan suggests.
I squeeze his hand. “Nope. Don’t even. That’s like drawing attention to us. Besides, it doesn’t matter, does it?”
“No, I guess not.”
“If you want to waste time doing something, help me sort out what’s going into the storage unit,” I add, laughing as both men groan.
We need one. We’re going to start packing to put the house on the market, and we need to ditch all the extra stuff cluttering up the place. It’s imperative we pare down our home’s contents for a good showing for prospective buyers. At least the home office once again holds the desk and some bookshelves that had been put in the dining room. Although the extra dresser in our bedroom, which holds Nolan’s clothes, does make it a tight fit.
