“We got it. I don’t think anyone noticed. Plus, now I don’t have to pretend to be a dental hygienist anymore.”
By the time we finish eating, the kids are restless, darting past the table in a blur of laughter and grass-stained knees. Jackie asks if I need sunscreen. Melanie wonders if I’ve always lived in Harbor Highlands. His dad offers to grab me another drink before I even realize my cup is empty. I’ve only known Miles’s family for a couple of hours, and they’ve welcomed me as if I’ve been part of the family for years. It feels… nice. But also a very bad idea.
Miles leans closer, his voice low. “You okay?”
I nod a little too fast. “Totally.”
A little boy barrels up and grabs his hand. “Uncle Miles! Will you help me fly my drone?”
Miles glances over his shoulder at me. “Want to come?”
“I’ll watch from here.” Plus, the pause gives me a second to collect my thoughts.
Miles jogs off, laughing, completely at ease in the middle of the chaos. He’s nothing like the guy who once rambled about sea cucumbers.
Around me, conversations blur together with weekend plans, school plays, and home improvement projects. It’s warm and loud in a comfortable family way. I smile and nod along until a small tap lands on my arm.
I turn to find a little girl with blonde pigtails proudly holding up two foot-long bubble tubes. “Want to blow bubbles with me?”
“I’d love to.”
She presses a wand into my hand and tugs me toward an open patch of grass. We dip, lift, blow—and suddenly the air is thick with floating, shimmering orbs. A low buzz cuts through the air. I glance over my shoulder just as a drone swoops toward us.
“Hey!” the girl yells, pointing. “You’re popping our bubbles!”
“What are you going to do about it?” a boy shouts back, laughing.
I crouch beside her and drop my voice like we’re planning something top secret. “What do you say we attack them with bubbles?”
Her eyes go feral. “Yeah!”
“Okay. I’ll go left and you go right. On three.” I hold up my fingers. “One. Two. Three.”
She bolts toward Miles and his nephew, and I take off after her, both of us blowing bubbles as if our lives depend on it. The drone zips left and right, buzzing louder as laughter ripples across the grass. I catch up just as Miles stumbles backward, trying to keep the drone steady. Bubbles drift around him, catching in his hair and clinging to his sleeves as he laughs.
“Okay! Okay! Truce!” Miles doubles over, hands braced on his knees, laughing so hard he can barely catch his breath.
“Bubbles win!” I throw my hands in the air in victory.
The little girl crashes into my legs. “We won!”
“We totally did.” I crouch and give her a high five.
Miles passes the controller back to his nephew, who immediately dashes off with the girl, already scheming their next attack. When he turns back to me, his eyes are bright, cheeks flushed from laughing. “Want to get cake?”
I narrow my gaze. “Are you talking dirty to me right now?”
His shoulders stiffen, eyes going wide. “Oh—um—no?”
A laugh slips out. “I’m teasing. Cake sounds perfect.” I bump my shoulder lightly against his. “We might need to work on your social cues. And your flirting.”
“Were you flirting with me?”
“It’s called banter.” I grin. “You’re supposed to fire back with something like, ‘Only if I can use the cake to make you dirty.’”
His brows knit together in concentration. “Is that what you like?”
Another laugh escapes me. “Never mind. Let’s just get cake.” I catch his bicep and tug him toward the pavilion.
