“This is a family hammock,” Wyatt says. “It can fit all three of us.”
“Really?” Lucca grins, feigning disbelief.
“It can.” Wyatt scoots to the side, leaving more room to the right of him. “Come try it.”
Lucca squeezes his hand around mine. “Only if Aunt Maggie tries it with me.”
“Wait. What?” I dig my heels into the grass. “Uh—no.No.”
“Come on, Aunt Maggie,” Wyatt says. “You know it can fit us all. Grandpa ordered thefamilysize.”
I blow a shaky breath from my lips. “Yes, he did.”
Lucca looks thoughtfully at the hammock. “Let’s give it a whirl.”
And while this hammock is family-sized, it’s still very much taco-shaped. If I get into that hammock with Lucca, there will be a whole lot of touching happening.
We’ve already discovered that when I touch Lucca or Lucca touches me, all thought and reason go out the window.
Wyatt hops out. “Grandma says biggest person in first.” He points at Lucca. “You’re up.”
“Oh goodness,” I mutter.
Lucca sits down in the swinging hammock. He pulls in his legs and lies down flat, hands behind his head. “Very nice,” he tells Wyatt.
“Aunt Maggie, your turn.”
“Wyatt—” I groan.
“There’s plenty of room,” Lucca says, grinning at me like a ninny. He holds out a hand, offering to help me in.
I shake out my fingers. “I can do it myself,” I grumble. I hold to the edge of the hammock, balancing the thing and my body at once. I attempt to ease in, but hammocks don’t exactly allow for a personal bubble space. There is no easing. The minute I allow the hammock to support my body weight, I am burrito-wrapped right onto Lucca. I press a hand to his chest to move myself next to him. “If you lift your arm—” I grunt.
Lucca does as I say, and I settle myself into the crook of his arm, our legs tangled together from my not-so-easing in. The hammock swings as I attempt tountangleus. Attempt—and fail. I puff out a tired breath because getting into this thing is aworkout.
Lucca’s warm breath wafts over my forehead and cheek. The side of his basically sculpted body presses next to mine. “Good?” he asks.
I lick my lips, my mouth dry. “Yeah. I think so.”
“Good.” He squeezes his arm beneath me and wraps it around my shoulders, his fingers brushing the bare skin at my upper arm. My head has nowhere else to go but on his chest. He’s all I’m breathing in. All I’m smelling, tasting, feeling. My head feels dizzy, like inhaling Lucca is enough to intoxicate me.
“Okay!” Wyatt says, peering in at us. “My turn.”
Oh, boy.
“Buddy, are you sure there’s room?”
“There’s room.” Wyatt nods, more confident than Dad bidding on fake sports paraphernalia on Finder’s Bid.
“Right here,” Lucca says, holding out his right arm, just opposite of where I lie. There may be six inches of fabric left on this hammock.
Wyatt beams. Gosh, I love that smile. He starts feet first, one leg in the hammock and one hopping on the ground.
“Try sitting,” I tell him. “Just sit like when you get in by yourself.”
“Sit?” Wyatt hops again and manages to take his left leg from the hammock. He follows my instructions and— “Oof,” he grunts as his little chest bumps Lucca’s. “Made it!”
I gulp as Lucca wraps his other arm around Wyatt. He has us both wrapped up in one big embrace, and it’s making my heart pound harder by the second.
