“Sounds amazing.”
I love the feel of this little, warm form in my arms. I love the way the light in our new living room spills in, and the summer sun isn’t too aggressive here in this lakeside town. In moments, I start to feel myself drifting off, too.
Then, Zack’s voice drags me back to alertness. “He’s cool.”
“Who?”
“Mercer,” he murmurs in a sleepy voice, snuggling in deeper. “He’s blue. Or green.”
“I think it’s a shade called teal. Or maybe aquamarine.” I blush when I think about the kraken lifeguard.
I kissed the heck out of him.
He kissed me back in a second, startled into it, probably.
My cheeks get hotter. I haven’t kissed anyone in over three years. Eli and I stopped being “romantic” towards the end of my pregnancy, and by the time Zack was three months old, we were separated.
If I think about it (which I wasn’t, thank you very much, until Zack started it), it was a thankful kiss, with no carnal implications. Until maybe at the very end, when the kiss was over, and Mercer was staring at me a little too long. That mention about doing things with eight tentacles. Eight useful tentacles, plus two arms...
No. No, no. Krakens obviously wouldn’t get into anything serious with a human. Humans don’t live in the water. He wouldn’t be a long-term partner, and that’s all I would ever consider. Zack doesn’t need men to come and go in his life. If I ever get involved again, it’ll be with someone good, someone who stays, who understands.
“You’re so soft. Squishy Mommy.” Zack turns sideways to burrow into me, both little arms locked around mine.
It’s the best thing to be his soft, squishy mom, his huggable person in a world that should already have treated him better. Ihug back, content to be a pillow, even while I acknowledge that so many men wouldn’t like this post-partum body that kept an extra layer of padding, that has new sags and droops at thirty-one that it never had before. Eli hated that. We used to bike together—that’s how we met, on a biking trail with a group of mutual friends. He told me he used to ride behind me so he could watch my ass straddle the saddle. Watch my toned thighs hugging and pumping.
That was sexy and flirtatious then, back before I realized it wasn’t only flirting, it was a way he determined my worth.
Mercer, just as an example, mind you, looks like he’s nothing but solid muscle. I had never felt a kraken’s tentacle before today, and I didn’t register it at the time, but now I remember the feel of his tentacle on my waist in the water, guiding us all to shore. Not a long touch, not a wrong touch, but suddenly memorable for the sheer muscular weight of it.
That heroic, waterbound hunk of pure muscle meant nothing flirtatious at all with his tentacle comment, or with his intense stare. He was just trying to educate you after you confessed your complete ignorance of anything to do with krakens, Madelyn.
But he is a really nice guy. And aside from royal purple, I think that particular shade of teal is going to be my new favorite color.
“You nap, and then we’ll make some popcorn and color in the new coloring books Grandma sent you in the Moving Kit.”
“Ooh, we can open it?” Zack’s voice loses some of its sleep edge.
“After a little rest. A mini-nap.” I kiss his curls and smile, thinking about my mom’s brilliant plan of filling a big cardboard box with dozens of books from thrift shops, new coloring books and art supplies, bubbles, sidewalk chalk, and who knows what else, and then telling Zack he could only open it after we wereofficially moved in. New things to enjoy in your new home, she’d said.
“I miss Grandma.”
“Me, too. Don’t worry, honey. We’ll make new friends here. They won’t be family like Grandma, but they could be almost as good.” I hope.
“Like Mercer? And Allison?” Zack’s hand goes back to his whistle again.
“Like Mercer and Allison,” I agree.Maybe especially Mercer.
Don’t be so silly, Madelyn.
“Buddy, I really, really have to do work today. If I don’t, we’re going to be in trouble,” I tell Zack the next morning as I strap him into the bike seat and tug his sweatshirt up close around his throat. It’s cool before seven, even if it already looks like it’s shaping up to be a hot, sunny day.
“Can you work on the porch? I can play in our park?”
“Yes, you can, but I can’t play with you too much. I want to, but when I take playtime breaks, I have to keep ‘em short,” I strap on my helmet and tug down my second pair of swim shorts, which are also tight and hug my marshmallow thighs, making them suitable for biking.
“We can set the timer.”
“We can. You know, you’re a big, brave helper.”
