He doesn’t go to the side of the dock like usual, but bumps his float into my legs. I smile and am rewarded with the tiniest hint of one in return. I don’t think it’s his shyness that makes his smiles so few and far between. I think it’s actually much deeper than that. He’s a very unhappy man.
From inside my cooler, I pull out the second glass bottle and hand it to him.
Malin takes it with a quiet “Thank you,” and slowly drinks it down until there’s only an inch or so left. I hold my hand out for the bottle, and he watches me refill it before handing it back to him.
When he’s had his fill of water, I take out one of the food containers and open it. Setting the lid aside, I grab a fork and hand both to him.
Malin looks at it before meeting my eyes. He’s slower to take this, but he does. So he doesn’t feel like he’s being put on the spot, I take out the second cold salad and begin eating. After a minute, Malin follows.
We trade containers, and when we’ve had our fill, I replace them in my cooler and hand him a rice cereal marshmallow treat bar that I made last night.
This time the smile I receive is much bigger. Far more genuine. I love it. It makes my stomach flip.
But then his smile fades entirely. His eyes drop, and his shoulders tense. He glances away, and I wonder if I somehow made him uncomfortable.
“Do you want more water?” I ask.
Malin looks at his empty bottle and nods. He hands it back to me as he takes a bite of the snack. I fill the bottle back up and hand it back to him.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice low. Almost… detached. Something happened, and I missed it. I think we were sharing something good, and then… what happened? Did the dessert trigger something?
Malin offers me back the bottle once he’s drunk a bit more. “You can keep it. It’s important to stay hydrated when it’s so hot out.”
He nods and leans back on his float. I take that as my cue to let him go. Reluctantly, I do. Slowly, he begins floating away as I stare at him.
Quite some time later, just when I’m thinking I’m low on water and am going to need a refill, an entire caravan of child vehicles all hauling trailers comes driving down the road toward us with Emerson in the lead. I shake my head, though I can’t fight my grin. Seriously. It’s never boring here. Also, I’m quite certain that the kids already run the show.
“Right here,” Emerson calls. “Let’s set up the tent by Uncle Gracen.”
Before I know it, a dozen kids aged four through ten are erecting one of those easy-up tents over my head. They even came withbungee cords to tack it to the dock so it doesn’t fall off or fly away in an errant gust of wind.
They haul tables down here. Coolers. Bag chairs. Towels and life jackets. Orev has a fan because he hates the heat. Emerson opens my cooler and pulls out the empty refills. Giving me a smug look, he turns to his brother. “See?”
Sulien and Greylyn replace my empty refills with full ones, and Novan dumps more ice into my cooler.
“Okay, what kind of weird intervention is this?” I ask.
Novan gives me a perplexed look. “What’s that word?”
“It means we’re putting our noses into his business,” Emerson says. “Right?”
“More or less, yes.”
He looks smug.
“Nothing,” Greylyn says as she stands at the end of the dock with her hands on her hips and stares at Malin. He’s looking in this direction now. “When’s the last time Uncle Malin put on some sunscreen?”
I try my best not to grin, and I only tattle on him because I’d like him to be close again. “You didn’t hear it from me, but I haven’t seen him put any on since I’ve been out here.”
She frowns.
“Uncle Malin!” Emerson calls. “Come in. It’s not an intervention.”
I chuckle. Fuck’s sake.
“Mom wouldn’t let me take a real grill down,” Paisley says, “So, all the food is cold. Even the hot food.”
“We told our dads that you’d be here and so would Uncle Malin, and they still wouldn’t let us,” Nilo complains.
