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“I don’t think he’s the only one.”

“You have that same look you get with Aviles.” A hint of impishness wrinkled her nose. “When you’re trying to maintain your patience and not curse in the office.”

“I assure you, I’m trying not to curse on this beach.” He cast a glance behind him, but the boys had mostly stayed put, kites fluttering in the wind. Later, with Cary, cursing might be an option.

“You’re doing an excellent job.”

And she was laughing at him, the sound winding through her husky voice. As sure as he stood here, her green eyes sparkled behind those dark glasses.

The tightness binding his chest since the night before loosened enough to let him draw in a breath.

“Mamama.” Squeezing his octopus, Lee overbalanced, Saturday-night-drunk style, and Tick bent to catch him, lifting him overhead.

“Boy, you’re supposed to be working on Daddy.” He lowered him, bussed his nose, and pressed him overhead once more.

“This is just not your day.”

Lee balanced on his arm, he slanted a mock glare at her, pleased at the way her teasing smile lit her face.

She loved him. He knew that, never questioned how she felt about him.

The pressure in his chest loosened an ounce or so further.

Blowing a raspberry on Lee’s neck, eliciting the chortling belly laugh that tickled him, he glanced back at their charges. Okay, so Falconetti boys and kite battles aside, maybe Cary was on to something here. The kites were a hit.

Settling Lee on the blanket, he folded into the chair next to Caitlin’s. His gaze fell on her bare feet, the inexpensive anklet he’d bought her gracing one ankle.

He nudged her foot with his toe and cleared his throat. “So me and you . . . would it be easier for you right now if I kept my hands to myself?”

“What?” Lips parted, she turned a startled look in his direction. “No.”

Relief cascaded through him.

“Okay.” He cleared his throat again. “Good.”

Lips pursed, she studied him, then shook her head and turned her attention back to the children. “Like you could keep them to yourself.”

“Hey.” He lifted his bottle for a swallow. Raising his other hand, he extended his index and middle finger, counting off. “August and September before we were dating.”

“Oh, two months.” Laughter laced her voice once more. “Actually, six weeks. The self-restraint.”

Smartass.

“I am trying to be what you need here.” He touched his chest with a pair of fingers. “And you’re being mean to me.”

“You are what I need.” She stilled, then her torso rose and fell with a sigh. “I told you, it’s not you.”

He caught her hand, lacing their fingers together, his wedding band glinting. “So help me understand so I know how to do this right.”

Long moments stretched about them, filled with waves and gulls and children laughing. She tightened her hold on his hand.

“I love you.”

He turned his head, frowning. She stared straight ahead, her body taut.

He squeezed their fingers together. “I know that.”

“I don’t feel anything physically right now.” Her voice emerged low, choked. “I haven’t for months.”