Page 17 of Learning at 40

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To my surprise, I don’t need to find River because she comes down to the beach in the early afternoon. She’s wearing another loose flowing dress, reminding me of a picture of hippies from an era of free love, racing through meadows, and passing peace signs to others. She’s too young to be from that time, but she pulls off the hippie look with her long golden hair and lightly tanned skin.

When the twins see her, they race toward her, and I stand from my chair, knowing my boys are begging her to allow them to come over. As I approach, she’s speaking to them collectively.

“Before you play in there again, I think we should inspect the wood.” I nearly fall over at River’s suggestion and hear Mason chuckling behind me when I didn’t realize he’d followed me.

“Hey, River,” Mason calls out, and she offers him a wide smile.

“Hi yourself, handsome.”

Handsome? Fuck. No need to feed Mason’s already enormous ego.

“I see you’ve met my little friends and their dad.” Mason claps my shoulder like I’m a child myself, and I shake off his touch.

“We’re well acquainted,” River says, glancing at me with brilliant blue eyes. I noticed them last night as we sat on the lounger. They sparkled and danced while she spoke as if she was constantly on the verge of laughter. Even when they softened as she mentioned her husband or offered sympathy for Ben’s passing, her eyes still sparked. Crackle. Pop. Snap. I could get lost in those eyes. I wanted to get lost in them. I also wanted to taste her lips and lick her everywhere.

“Interesting,” Mason mumbles. “You should join us.”

River hesitates, glancing over at our collection of Adirondack chairs and other shit—coolers, towels, bags, and toys.

“I don’t—”

She doesn’t have time to finish before Mason has his arm around River’s shoulders, guiding her to our group. Logan has joined us again as we agreed we wouldn’t work much during these two weeks, giving our attention to Anna and our memories to Ben. Autumn had to work today, so Logan holds his sleeping son while his daughter, Lorna, digs in the sand with Mila.

My boys hover behind River until I tell them to go play. Trevor groans, but Oliver pulls his brother away from our cluster.

Mason handles introductions while Logan offers River a beer, which she declines.

“So I heard the little hellions commandeered your tree fort,” Logan states after River takes a seat next to me.

“Hellions?” River questions, lifting a brow in his direction.

“Zack’s boys,” he clarifies.

River peers over at Trevor and Oliver throwing sand at each other before turning back to Logan. “Do you want someone calling your boy a hellion?” Her mama-bear tone is teasing, but the offense is evident. Mason chokes on a swallow of beer, and Anna slowly smiles while my mouth falls open. No one ever defends my children. Hell, even I don’t always stand up for them when I know I should. My gaze finds my boys still torturing one another with fists full of sand. I shift back to River, still shocked by her soft expression but protective words. I don’t know what to say.

“Zack mentioned that you and I have a lot in common,” Anna says, and I tip back my beer. Shit.

River glances at me before addressing Anna. “I think we might both like gardening.” The comment is a decent save from an awkward topic, and for the second time in a minute, River covers for me. Anna looks in my direction.

“Maybe,” Anna mutters. Ben was the gardener, but she occasionally helped in their yard.

“The tree fort,” Mason interjects. “I’m in construction. I’d be happy to come inspect your wood.”

Next, I’m choking. I don’t want River anywhere near Mason’s wood, or rather, Mason near River’s wood, or Mason near her tree fort. River gazes at me, a questioning look on her face, before glancing back at Mason.

“I can handle my own tree fort, thank you.” Her sly smile suggests she’s on to him and his innuendos, and the comment has me choking once more. She’s more than capable of taking care of herself, but I’d really love to be the one to take care of her. “I’m going to have the boys help me. It will be a fun project for them.”

“What?” The word rushes out loud and sharp. I’m not certain seven-year-olds should be dismantling and rebuilding a tree fort. Suddenly, I recall my own father building the platform as I scrambled around the yard, probably offering to help while being more of a nuisance. River shouldn’t be tackling such a project with my boys. Deep down, I know it should be me building a tree fort with my sons.

“Sounds like a wonderful idea. The boys could use something constructive to do,” Anna interjects, smiling in agreement with River’s plan. “I’m so sorry I haven’t gotten over to your house to introduce myself.”

River waves a dismissive hand. “Life gets in the way.”

Anna’s smile falters a bit. In her case, it’s been death, and I swallow back the reminder.

“But we’ve met now, and I’d love for you to come over for wine some night. I could use some decorating advice on the interior of the house.”