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“Maybe I should rethink this.”

“You’ve been looking forward to this for too long.” Bad weather, early summer colds, and scheduling issues have thwarted us until now. “We’re going to have a great day doing all the quintessential beach things.”

The corner of her mouth kicks up. “Like what?”

“Building sandcastles, jumping waves, and flying a kite to start.”

I’d insisted on preparing all the items for today, telling Willow she just needed to pick out a swimsuit. I’m also carrying a Velcro-catch game, a beach football, and a frisbee, though I doubt Willow would be interested in any of those. My wife is a self-proclaimed anti-athlete—skee-ball notwithstanding. She admits to enjoying watching ‘sportsball’ but only if I’m playing.

Willow beams at me before trying to give me a kiss, but with everything I’m carrying, she can’t quite reach me.

“To be continued.” She giggles, tugging me along.

We crest the walkway, catching sight of the waves rushing toward the shore. Piper is already getting sunscreened, impatient to run into the water. Adam sets up two umbrellas for us all to share. Container ships drift slowly in the distance toward the harbor while two pelicans skim just beyond the wave break.

It’s delightfully warm, not too breezy, and thankfully, not crowded.

The perfect beach day.

Piper is off splashing while the rest of us set up chairs. Delilah takes pictures of Adam and their daughter playing in the shallows while Willow takes off her swim coverup.

The color-blocked one-shoulder suit has a large cutout over her waist, giving it the illusion of two pieces. The thick forest-green, deep-purple, and teal sections highlight Willow’s gorgeous skin perfectly. When she holds up a sunscreen bottle and asks me to do her back for her, I practically knock over the umbrella rushing over.

Willow snickers, turning to face the water as I diligently complete my task.

“I think I’m good,” she says through a laugh when I go for a second coat.

“Melanoma is one of the deadliest forms of skin cancers,” I say, massaging sunscreen over her delicate neck.

“Is that why you’re wearing a long-sleeve shirt at the beach?”

“Yes. I burn easily, and it’s easier than sunscreen.”

Willow snorts. “Me too. Our kids will need to be dipped into a vat of SPF 10,000 before playing outside.”

My hand freezes over her midback. Of all the conversations we’ve had over the last month, we haven’t discussed children. We’ve simply settled into a blissful routine of spending every second I’m not playing baseball together.

I rotate Willow, my heart climbing my windpipe. “Do you see us having kids?”

The idea used to terrify me because I was certain that I’d be the same as my father and ruin their lives. No child should be willingly subjected to the upbringing I had. Over these last few months, though, I’ve realized I’m nothing like my father. More importantly, Willow isn’t like the women who came before her. She wouldn’t give up on me or our children, even if we were occasionally obstinate and grumpy.

Being responsible for a tiny fragile person seems scary as heck, but Delilah and Adam have fun with it. So do my teammates who are proud fathers. Though I’m not ready now, I could see that future with Willow…if it was something she wanted.

She bites her lip, looking down. “It was just an offhanded comment.”

Nope. No way I’m buying that.

I lift her chin with my knuckle. “Answer the question, honey.”

Willow fidgets for two seconds before her shoulders drop. “Yes, because you’d make the best dad. You’re protective and observant and caretake in the sweetest, most unobtrusive way. I could see you staying up late to finish science projects, or quietly reorganizing their closets, or terrifying their bullies with your award-winning scowl.” She releases a wistful sigh. “I just didn’t want to bring it up because…”

Her sentence drops off as her gaze drifts out over the ocean.

“Because…” I prompt.

Willow groans, dropping her head back.

I lean forward to kiss the pulse point in her neck and immediately regret it. Darn sunscreen tastes terrible. Add that to the list of why I hate the beach. I can’t kiss my wife properly.