“Holy mother of pearl,” I mutter, wiping at the sweat beads over the back of my neck.
Lucca is nodding, staring at the jockstrap in Dad’s hands.
“You know what that means, right?” Dad’s brows bounce. “This cup could very well belong to Steve Young.”
I cup my eyes, then rub at my temple. “Okay, Dad. That is a lot of excitement for one afternoon. Wyatt, didn’t you want to show Lucca the hammock out back?”
“Oh boy, I sure did.” Wyatt hops on one foot—surprisingly well. I’m just grateful he mentioned it when Lucca first came. I changed the subject when he brought it up, but that hammock is saving me now.
Wyatt snatches onto Lucca’s hand and swings their arms between them.
Lucca points to the jockstrap in Dad’s hand. “That’s…something, Mr. McCrae.”
Dad smiles, happy to have a piece from one of his collections appreciated. Gosh, I love that man. Even if he’s shown Lucca things today that he can never unsee.
I slip my hand into Lucca’s free one—Wyatt and I have claimed him. “This way.”
It’s a short walk to the back door, but Wyatt has a lot to say. “Does Nanners miss me?”
“Of course,” Lucca says.
“Has she been crying? Because if she’s been crying, you just need to rub her belly.”
Lucca clears his throat. “Not crying. But she has destroyed every plant in my house.”
“That’s just kitty stuff. Who needs plants anyway?” Wyatt yanks the back kitchen door open and leads us into the spring sunshine. “The hammock!” he bellows, letting go of Lucca and racing through my parents’ large yard to the double-sized hammock set between the two tall oaks.
“Very nice,” Lucca calls, then leans his head near mine. “By the way, who is Steve Young? Does your dad actually have his jockstrap?”
His breath warms my cheek, and the mint that wafts into my nostrils makes me the tiniest bit dizzy. I smirk—just a little woozy. “He’s a retired American football player. Do you know the 49ers?”
He nods. “I don’t follow American football. But I’ve heard of them.”
“Steve Young hasn’t played in years. And I’m guessing thatwas nothis jockstrap.”
Lucca chuckles. “I like your father. I’ll have to bring him a jersey.”
My mouth goes dry, but I find my manners. “He would love that.”
“What about Maggie? Does she need a Lucca jersey to sleep in?”
“No. She does not.” I snap… only, I might love that—one that smells just like him. Except I’m not saying that. Ugh. “I can’t believe your jerseys still fit your head.”
“My head?” His full lips are grinning at me, but his nose wrinkles with uncertainty.
“Yes, your ego is so big.” I tilt my head, peering at him. “I can’t believe it still fits into that jersey.”
Lucca snickers. He lifts my hand to his lips and presses a light kiss to my wrist, sending a shiver down my spine and into every crook and corner of my body. This man has every reason to be confident. But I’m not telling him that.
“Hey!” Wyatt yells from the rainbow hammock. “Come try it out.”
Lucca slides his fingers through mine and pulls me over to the hammock Mom and Dad bought earlier this spring. The May weather is finally warm enough to use it.
“Wyatt reads a book out here every day.” I grin at my little guy—he’s swinging from the hammock. At least he got in without the thing turning over on him today.
“Sure do. Hammocks are the bestest place to read.” He pats the cloth next to him, motioning for Lucca to sit.
“You want me to try it while you’re in it?” Lucca asks.
