“Dad got a tattoo?” Max asks, because little boys may seem like they’re not listening, and if you want them to be, they usually aren’t, but they somehow manage to hear all the things you don’t want them to hear.
Blake looks horrified. “One that won’t wash off?”
I set the cup down before I spill it all over my dress. “You’ll have to ask your father about that.”
“But—”
“Time to get moving.” I march over to the dresser where their clothes are stacked and toss each of them a neatly folded outfit. “You two need to get dressed or we’ll miss the boat. Literally.”
Max groans. “Is that supposed to be funny?”
I shake my head, fighting a smile as I start making up each of their bunk beds, when three knocks sound at the door. Mom disappears to answer it, but then she squees just a little.
“Beckett, darling!”
“Morning, Mom.”
I don’t look up as my mom leads him into the already-crowded little room. “Look who’s here!” she announces. “My favorite son-in-law. The safest bet in town!”
“For now.” The words escape my mouth before I can stop them.
Mom sends me a somewhat baffled scowl. “I love Noah, but he’s gonna have to put in some time to even come close to winning that number one spot.”
“I just ran into Babs,” Beckett says easily, giving her that smile that wins everyone over. “She says to meet her at your favorite table near the omelet station.”
Beckett looks…
Really good. And seeing his hair damp, slicked back, I’m impressed he was able to shower so quickly.
He’s shaved too—though that stubble will be back within the hour—and his white shirt clings just enough to remind me how solid he is.
“But you.” Mom pokes his chest with her finger. “Need to stop working so many weekends. I know you’re a Wall Street big wig, Bex, but family needs to come first.”
Before this week, I would have expected Beckett to say something like…” Someone’s gotta pay the bills,”or,“How else can I support my wife’s little business?”
But instead he says: “I know. And they do. They always will.”
He meets my eyes, jaw set, daring me to argue, and for a second, I’m back in that king size bed, our bodies pressed together…
I glance away quickly.
“Well, then. Good,” Mom says, and then shuffles around, gathering her tote. “I’d better find Babs. Our tender leaves in an hour. Don’t be late.”
“Fifty minutes, Mom,” I correct her. Because I am never late.
Meanwhile, Beckett is helping Max wrestle out of his pajama shirt, telling Blakey to grab the sunscreen.
“Dad,” Max says, hopping on one foot as Beckett helps him into shorts, “can we see your tattoo?”
My head snaps up.
Blakey’s eyes go huge. “Is it a dragon? Or a shark? Or a snake with fire breath?”
Beckett freezes for half a second. Just long enough for me to notice.
“Who said I got a tattoo?”
“Grandma and Mom.”
