Page 18 of Rubber Duckie Shifter Next Door

As the week goes on, driving with a temptation of a man like Sig gets increasingly more difficult. And the kisses definitely don’t help. We sneak them in every chance we get—before the kids are up, after they go to bed, and everywhere in between—each one more toe-curling than the last.

The urge to forget about being a responsible adult and hook up with the man grows. But I constantly remind myself that the kids come first. I need to focus all my energy on getting my life together… and job applications aren’t going to send themselves.

Sig convinces me to work on my resume at Rubber Duckie World, on a pool-side duckie desk. It’s surprisingly comfortable, and the giant, bright-yellow parasol provides some much-needed shade, so my laptop doesn’t overheat.

I spend each morning looking for jobs while trying not to ogle Sig. He’s completely in his element, whether he’s training staff, directing the crew filming promotional material, or setting up for Sunday’s rubber duckie race.

At lunch time, we hit a few of the rides, starting with my all-time favorite: Quack Attack. Then we head over to Duckie Diner to sample Reaper’s mouthwatering, duck-themed creations. The guy’s a genius in the kitchen and a genuinely great guy, so it comes to me as no surprise that he and Sig have been lifelong friends.

Over lunch, I learn that they grew apart when Reaper got married to a horrible-sounding woman, and then reconnected after the divorce. I also find out that Reaper’s real name is Rupert—though I’m sworn to secrecy under threat of a lifetime Duckie Diner ban—and I also learn what Sig is short for.

“Sigvart,” I repeat when he tells me. “I like that.”

He grins. “It’s actually my middle name, after Grandad.”

“The duckie collector?”

Sig nods. “I idolized him as a kid—still do. And William doesn’t suit me.”

I’m inclined to agree.

We talk a bit more about Sig’s grandad and his childhood in a small town compared to mine in the big city. I tell him about college, and when he asks about my ring, I explain that Ada got it as a high school graduation present for Janey, and that she left it for me in her will along with her kids. Then we lighten the mood and compare our past jobs—mine aboard cruise ships, and Sig’s at various amusement parks.

By Wednesday morning, we’ve settled into a routine, which gets broken up when the principal pulls me aside. But instead of more lectures and veiled threats, she admits she was wrong.

“She said she misjudged me. And she thinks I’m doing a great job with the kids,” I gush as I settle behind the wheel. “And she’s glad they’ve got me. Can you believe it?”

“Of course I can.” Sig places a hand over mine. “You are doing a great job with them, Rachel. And they’re lucky to have you. We all are!”

I’m still thinking about his words when we pick up the kids after school, cook dinner—all Sig, since I can’t follow a recipe to save my life—and grab water guns so we can chase each other around the back yard, shouting and laughing until the sun sets.

On Thursday night—after another perfect day with Sig and the kids—it rains, so we decide to have a living room dance party, complete with a half-pineapple, half-sane pizza. And when the kids start fighting over music, Sig intervenes, mediates, and keeps the peace. He helps with bedtime, and once the kids are asleep, we slow dance the night away.

I almost ask him to spend the night. Almost. But it’s a terrible idea, so I fall asleep on the couch alone, dreaming of being pressed up against Sig’s hard chest, his powerful arms wrapped around me and his hot lips on mine.

Friday morning brings sunshine, clear skies, and drenched panties. I take care of myself in the shower, try not to blush while Sig and I make breakfast, and go upstairs to wake up the kids. I keep my hands to myself during school drop-off, but the moment we get to Rubber Duckie World, he pulls me into his arms and kisses me like he’s drowning and I’m air.

When we pull apart, I’m breathless and every one of my reservations melts away.

“I have something to show you.” Sig takes my hand and guides me toward a quiet area of the park. We stop in front of a locked gate, and he punches in the security code. 382543. “Welcome to my personal section of the park. I built it for whenever I need to get away and be alone. No one else is allowed through here.”

I peer past the fence, but from my vantage point, all I see is a winding path. “Do you want to be alone?”

“Yes,” he says, and my heart sinks. “With you.”

I can’t help but smile as he leads me inside. “So what’s through here?”

“Lazy river, a pool, and a giant personal bathtub. With a hundred and fifty custom rubber duckies.”

His eyes light up when he mentions his collection, but my mind is as far away from duckies as it can get. “You have a giant bathtub?”

“Filled with bubbles and duckies.”

“One hundred and fifty duckies,” I can’t help but tease.

“Only fifty are in the tub. There are seventy-five in the lazy river and ten in the pool. The other fifteen are extra-large duckies for lounging. There are four by the pool, four by the hot tub, and seven along the river.”

The fact that the man has an exact duckie count is kind of endearing. “I wish I had something I was as passionate about as you are about duckies.”