Cullen clicks his fingers, and Ghost follows him down the steps as he walks away.
I watch them go, taking a moment to admire Cullen’s tight butt in his shorts, then go inside the bach to make Max’s cheese toastie with a light heart.
Chapter Eleven
Cullen
Christmas Eve dawns hot and humid, and when I walk down to Isla’s bach at eleven, the sea breeze is a welcome relief from the unrelenting heat.
I bring a bag with me, but manage to smuggle it into the bach without Max seeing, and tuck it behind the sofa. Isla is busy packing up a bag for the beach with towels, sun lotion, hats, glasses, a book, a bucket and spade, and the hundred other things parents always seem to need. When she’s done, the three of us go to the local supermarket and decide we’re going to treat ourselves to whatever we want to eat for the next few days.
After emerging with several big bags, we take them back to the bach, then make up a picnic from some of our purchases. Isla makes a pile of chicken sandwiches, and I pack up a chilly bin with strawberries, apples, a bag of grapes, a cold bacon quiche cut into slices, a bar of chocolate each, a few packets of chips, and cold drinks, adding the sandwiches in when they’re done.
I carry the chilly bin while Isla carries a bag with everything else, and we walk to the end of the beach near the rocks. We set up the beach umbrella from the bach’s small shed, and Isla spreads out a blanket.
First, we eat lunch, as we’re all ravenous. Then we join forces to make a huge sandcastle, complete with towers and moat, and decorate it with shells. We follow that with a swim, Ghost included, to cool us all down.
When we’ve had enough, Isla and I stretch out on the blanket and chat while Max and Ghost continue to play.
I’m just enjoying our talk when her phone rings.
“Dammit,” she says. “It’s Rob. I’d better take it.”
I get up from the blanket and leave her to talk to him while I play with Max and Ghost in the sea. I watch her out of the corner of my eye, wondering if she’s missing him, and whether she’ll get upset, but to my relief her expression remains stony, and eventually she ends the call and tosses the phone onto the blanket.
I go back and lower down beside her. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She shakes her head. “He’s an asshole.” I chuckle, and she blows out a breath and finally gives a wry smile. “He asked where I was.”
“You haven’t told him yet?”
She shakes her head. “I said I’d come up to the Northland, but I didn’t say where. He wanted to join us for Christmas Day. I refused to tell him.”
I’m surprised how relieved I feel. “Oh, okay.”
“I don’t want to see him,” she says fiercely. “I don’t want him corrupting the bay or my time here. Does that make sense? Or is that stupid?”
“No, it makes sense.”
“Really? I’m not being selfish?” She draws up her legs, leans her elbows on them, and covers her face with her hands. “I hate this so much. I feel so guilty. He is Max’s father.” Her fingers curl into fists.
“Does Max want to see him?” I ask gently.
She lowers her hands. I’m glad she’s not crying. “No. He hasn’t talked about him at all. It’s just that Rob knows how to push my buttons. He laid on the guilt with a trowel and said Max was his son and he deserves to see him at Christmas…”
“Isla, part of being a man is recognizing when you feel frustrated with a situation and learning to walk away. It’s never okay to use violence. He knows that—it’s why he’s resorting toblackmail to guilt you into giving him what he wants. But you don’t have to. He doesn’t deserve anything.”
She meets my eyes, and gradually the creases in her brow disappear, and she smiles. “You make me feel better,” she whispers.
“That’s what I’m here for.”
“I’m so glad I met you.”
“I’m glad I met you, too.”
I can’t help it—I lean forward and kiss her, pressing my lips to hers once, twice, then a longer third time.
When I finally move back, she glances along the beach and I follow her gaze to see Max throwing a stick for Ghost.
