Nicole was laughing by the time I reached her. “You’ll never grow up, will you?”
I stopped in front of her and grinned. “Do you want me to?”
Her hair swung from side to side as she shook her head. “Absolutely not, Peter Pan.”
I slipped my arm around her waist and pulled her to me, her hand resting on my chest. I hoped she felt the beat of my heart, the evidence of what she did to me. “I’m old enough to do this.” I lowered my mouth to hers and pressed a kiss to her lips.
“Ew, Uncle Drew.” Disapproval coated Owen’s voice. “Let’s go, Sierra.”
Nicole chuckled, her mirth vibrating against my mouth. My smile grew above her lips, severing the contact. “We sure know how to clear a crowd.” I threaded my fingers with hers.
“But we might need to brush up on our flirting.” Laughter made her words come out like a song. “I think our exchange there might have skirted a line.”
I replayed our dialogue, cringing as I heard what she referenced for the first time. “Not my intention.”
“Nor mine.” She leaned into my shoulder. “Maybe we just need more practice?”
My brows jumped to my hairline. My serious, strait-laced, no-time-for-games Nicole wanted to play. Something wild in me broke free, and I growled. “I like the way you think.”
I let go of her hand, meaning to make a grab for her, but she anticipated my plans and side-stepped my swipe.
She laughed, and I growled again, stalking her as a predator would its prey. Nicole had always been beautiful in my eyes, even when she’d tried to be Atlas, taking the world on her shoulders. But now, as her eyes danced and her laughter floated on the ocean’s currents and she spun away from my outstretched arm, she was radiant. The most bewitching woman I’d ever met.
And she’d put me under her spell.
Her foot slipped in the sand. I darted forward, snaking my arm around her waist and lifting her off her feet, her back to my front. Her head fell back and rested on my shoulder.
“Caught ya.” I grinned into her eyes.
She stared back into mine. “That’s because I quit running.”
I set her back on her feet but didn’t loosen my grip on her hips. I wasn’t ready to let her go. Settling my chin on her crown, I peered out into the Pacific. “I’m glad it’s still warm enough to come out here and enjoy the ocean.”
“And I’m glad it’s cold enough that no one expects me to wear a bathing suit.”
My fingers reflexively curled into the soft swell covering her hip bone. “That’s a sight I’d like to see.”
The corners of her lips twisted into her cheeks, her expression dismissive. “Trust me, no one wants to see that.”
I pulled her back and wrapped my arm around her, anchoring her to me. “I’m trying to think of how I can word this to convince you how wrong you are without sounding like I’m objectifying you in any way,” I whispered into her ear.
She shivered in my arms. Not from the temperature. It wasn’t that cold.
“Even before Sierra, I never had what people consider a beach body. And pregnancy and motherhood take a physical toll on a woman’s form. Places that might have been firm once now sag. Not to mention stretch marks that look like crevasses on the surface of a glacier.”
My little green queen. Only she would make such a comparison. I tilted my chin and pressed a kiss to the curve of her neck. “Beauty comes in all shapes, sizes, forms, and colors. God didn’t have a mold when He created the world, and we don’t need to try to put people into molds now.” My hand slid across her stomach. “And the changes your body underwent to bring a life into this world are nothing to be ashamed of or hide. They’re evidences of a miracle, sacrifice, and unconditional love.”
Her palm covered the back of my hand. For a minute I thought she’d remove my hold, uncomfortable with me touching an area of her body she felt was less than beautiful. But instead of pushing my hand away, she pinned my palm to her navel.
Gratitude washed over me like the surge of the tide climbing up the coastline. Instead of shutting me out, she was letting me in. To the vulnerable places. The unguarded tender shoots of her heart.
I splayed my fingers, our position not lost on me. Expectant parents often stood like this, a soon-to-be father physically protecting his unborn child with the length of his hand. But Nicole wasn’t pregnant, and I’d never feel my flesh and blood move under my palm in the womb.
I waited for the kick of loss, but instead felt only a twinge. Maybe that would never go away, but it no longer overshadowed the hope of other options.
“Would you ever consider more kids? Adoption or fostering?”
Her shoulder blades pressed into my ribs, reminding me to breathe.
