When I take my kids to the lake for their free-swim time, she’s waiting for me with a reproachful smile on her face.Perfect.
“I felt like a fly this morning,” she says in greeting, her hands on her hips.
I puff out a laugh, because I wasnotexpecting that statement. I send my boys over to Rocky for their pre-swim safety reminders. “A fly?”
“Or some other kind of insect stuck in a spider’s web, all wrapped up.”
I grin. “I think what you mean to say is ‘Thank you, Gage, for the glorious birthday surprise.’” I raise the pitch of my voice to mimic hers.
Her eyes dance, though her fists remain against her sides. “I do not mean that.”
Still using the falsetto, I continue, “It’s so nice that you remembered my birthday and took time out of your sleep schedule to decorate my cabin for me.”
She loses the battle against her instincts and laughs, pushing on my shoulder. “You’re so ridiculous.”
Still grinning, I tease her in my normal voice. “You love it.”
And as I hold her gaze, her eyes are shining, telling me without words that shedoeslove it. That she lovesme. I pray that I’m not misreading and that I can have more than the next two weeks with her.
I wrap my hand gently around her wrist and pull her into the boathouse. Our lips are on each other the second we’re away from prying eyes. I know we don’t have much time before we need to help Rocky supervise free swim, so I make up for it with intensity.
I pour everything I feel for Olivia into this kiss. The sweet and gentle love I have for her, but also my more passionate emotions. It’s an embrace that echoes down my spine and all the way to the tips of my toes, leaving me wanting so much more when she pulls away.
“Happy birthday,” I murmur in her ear, my eyes still closed as I struggle to compose myself.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I clear my throat and open my eyes, managing to shoot her a half smile. “We’re going to celebrate for real on Saturday. So, if you have plans, cancel ‘em.”
She squeezes the back of my neck where her hand still rests. Her eyes, hooded and hazy, lock onto mine. “You’re my plans.”
Standing in an unventilated boathouse in the sticky heat of a Texas July, I shiver with hope.
Saturday is bright and sunny. And hot, of course. Olivia, wearing white shorts that come up past her belly button and a blue, sleeveless shirt that's tight around her chest and stomach, climbs into the front seat of my Jeep.
“So, where are we going?” she asks, sliding large black sunglasses on.
“You’ll see.”
“The thing about surprises,” she starts, her voice cautious, “is that I always get carried away imagining the most over-the-top things and end up disappointed by the real surprise, which is usually perfectly wonderful on its own.”
I chuckle and consider her words. I have a fun day planned but not like we’re-taking-a-private-jet-to-Paris fun. I should tell her.
“We’re going to the ice cream factory in town, for starters. It’s called a creamery. We can see how they make ice cream, and we can eat sundaes as big as our heads.”
I glance over at her as I drive to gauge her reaction. She’s smiling, her eyes bright.
“And then, there’s a park nearby that has an antique carousel. We can ride it and have a picnic under the trees.”
Olivia sighs, but the sound is content and happy. “Perfectly wonderful.”
We start in the creamery visitor center, where we walk through exhibits about the history of the company and the ice cream–making process. Then we check out the observation deck, where we can see into the factory. We watch machines fill various-sized containers with soft, creamy ice cream.
“Hungry yet?” I ask Olivia with a grin.
“I’m always hungry for ice cream.”
I take her hand. “Then let’s go.”
