He hesitates, just a beat. Then: “I’m going to have to touch you.”
Just the thought of that sends an uncomfortable heat spiraling inside me.
“Is that really necessary?”
“Seriously?”
I fold my arms, wanting to argue, but… he has a point. “I suppose… yeah. A little, maybe.”
“We’re on a cruise. A romantic one, according to your sister.”
He isn’t wrong. Dang it. “Well, fine. Just the basics. And only when we’re around the wedding party.”
“Whenever we’re in public, Ash. We won’t always know who’s watching us.”
I clutch my hands in my lap. “Fine. Just keep it PG.”
“13?”
“Beckett.” I shoot him a sideways glare.
“PG then, noted.” His mouth twitches.
I ignore that. “The second I say stop, you stop. No questions. No wounded looks.”
His expression sobers. “Agreed.”
“And,” I add, because this matters, “this is for appearances only. We are not… rekindling.”
“If you say so. And also… we need to spend time together, and with the boys.”
“They’ll like that.” I sigh. Loudly enough that a few people turn to look. “It’s the least we can do.”
Because maybe this is the last time we’ll ever feel like a family.
Up on the stage, Todd is now pantomiming an enthusiastic leap into an imaginary lifeboat. Great. Now I’ve missed who knows how many lifesaving instructions.
Most of the crowd bursts out laughing.
“You‘re gonna have to touch me too, you know. I mean…”
“I’m not an idiot.”
“Never said you were, Ash.”
I don't look at him.
“By the way,” he says casually, like this is nothing at all, “I booked go-karts for me and the boys tomorrow morning. While you’re at the spa with the girls.”
This time, I turn fully in my seat. “Is that safe?” I start, then stop. “Wait?—”
I blink at him. “You saw the schedule?”
After a year of disconnection. Of missed baseball games, dentist appointments, award ceremonies. After months of adding things to the shared calendar and watching them disappear into the void.
And now—now—he’s read it?
I’m not sure what unsettles me more: that he knows where I’ll be tomorrow morning… or that he’s finally paying attention.
