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Not until he reaches for me, and I dart—as much as I candartin the water—away from him, avoiding him by going under again.
I was right when I said tonight was going to be the best date I’ve ever been on. And considering Pete and I went on quite a fewobligatory dinners out, that’s saying something. I’ve been to some of the best steakhouses in Kansas City and other cities from when Pete and I traveled. They were excellent and high-priced. Certainly. But none of them hold a candle to Seth’s steaks.
Of course, it could be that the company was infinitely better, though. As much as I enjoyed the food—and we haven’t even had dessert because we were both too full even after cleaning everything up—my favorite part of the evening is just Seth. From the obvious thought and preparation he put into this date to the easy conversation over our meal to the kisses that led to the steaks getting a little extra done, I couldn’t have planned a better date if I tried. Even something as mundane as doing the dishes suddenly became full of laughter and flirting when I “accidentally” splashed Seth and he “happened to” splash me back and he “had to” dry the water from my face.
It wasn’t even close to sunset by the time we were done, so we simply curled up together on the lounge chair on Marshall and Jess’s back deck (I want to take the chair home) and talked. Seth had his arm around my shoulders, his suit jacket discarded, and shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, and I rested my head on his chest. We discussed what we did today and the highs and lows of the day. Seth told me more about his childhood and the house where he and Jess lived in with their parents in Des Moines and what it was like after his father’s arrest. I confided in him about my parents and how I began painting and why I dropped out of college. He opened up about some of the things he’s seen over his eleven years as a cop and sprinkled in a few funny stories to balance the heavier ones. I shared my favorite parts of being a mom and what the hardest parts of being a mom, specifically a single one, have been.
But my favorite part? Though there were lulls in conversation from time to time where we were simply quiet as birds chirped and water lapped at the nearby shore or we fell into the waves of our kisses, it was never uncomfortable. There was nothing stilted or unnatural about the discussions, even the deeper topics that led to a more solemn, contemplative energy.
It’s been like the best medicine for my soul. This, all of it, is all I ever wanted with Pete. To be able to talk about anything and laugh at the small things. To be so heady with mutual attraction it feels like fireworks that’d rival a Fourth of July display go off inside you when you kiss. To be so in love with someone’s smile or laugh that you do everything possible to make their eyes crinkle.
I’ve realized it just wasn’t possible with Pete, for many more reasons than one, of course. But that doesn’t mean I ever stopped wanting it. And now that I have a man I feel all those things and more with, I struggle to see how I was able to stay with a man I didn’t.
Once the sun started sinking slowly over the lake, Seth got up to change and I headed down to the waiting boat. He came down a few minutes later in a pair of navy swim trunks, his dress shirt open to reveal his tanned chest, carrying a cooler he tucked into the cubby between the captain’s area and the front seat without allowing me so much as a little peek inside.
He took me on a slow cruise around the lake and pointed out interesting facts about some of the most expensive homes on the shoreline. I rode on the seat directly in front of him, legs stretched out in front of me, reveling in his masculine voice as he spoke and the smooth vinyl under my skin. I pulled my phone out at one point to check in with Joanna (everything’s great; the kids have only had two brownies each, apparently, and they’ve been playing in the backyard kiddie pool) and to snap a picture of my hunky boat captain. It’s currently sitting at a tie for third place on my list withOn-Duty Seth. They might just have to coexist at number three forever because I don’t think I can make a choice between the two.
When Seth anchored up in a quiet cove, he didn’t say a word to me. He just took his shirt off, hung it over his chair, and dove straight off the back of the boat. It honestly didn’t surprise me, so I took my dress off—now understanding why Joanna insisted I wear a swimsuit—and jumped off. It’s still close to ninety even though the sun’s going down, and the lake water feels amazing against my skin. My curls are ruined now, but I can’t even bring myself to be mad about it.
I’m not sure how long we swim for, but it’s just simple fun. We float on our backs and Seth tries to do a “suspended” handstand because he obviously can’t touch the bottom here and we laugh and we kiss. There’s something adventurous and intimate about these kisses in the sun-streaked water. Maybe it’s Seth’s hands directly on my skin as we both tread water to stay afloat or the free feeling that comes with being out on the lake itself or the awe of getting to touchhisskin directly. I don’t know. I do know that, by the time we crawl onto the boat via the back ladder and Seth wraps a fluffy towel around my shoulders, taking the liberty of drying me off as smiles like the most angelic devil I’ve ever seen, my face is sore from smiling and laughing.
I also know that I’m ready—more than ready—for dessert.
“Here.” Seth holds his shirt out to me, his towel wrapped around his waist. The sun hits his chest perfectly, making the drops of water shimmer as he moves. I feel like I should get the chance to dry him off too, but I’m distracted by his shirt. “This has been in the sun, so it’ll be dryer and warmer than your towel. Are you ready for dessert yet?”
I drape my towel over the back of his chair and push my arms through the rolled sleeves of his shirt, shamelessly inhaling a lungful of his clean, masculine cologne. “Very ready. I think swimming burns more calories than chasing my kids around.”
He laughs as he pulls the cooler out from its hidey-hole, muscles seamlessly defined in his arms with the movement. “Possibly. Depends on how much energy they have. Okay, if you want, we can sit on the back seat. It’ll have the best view of the sunset, which is obviously why we’re here. But the real question is: do you want whipped cream on your cake?”
My eyes widen when he pulls two generous slices of my favorite chocolate torte cake from the cooler, along with a canister that must have homemade whipped cream in it. The canister looks like a glass version of a Reddi-Whip container, but its contents are probably both fresher and healthier. And the icing on the cake, pun fully intended, is when Seth pulls out a tiny jar of the raspberry drizzle I adore.
It’s official. I never want this night to end.
“Only a little bit,” I say in response, crawling onto the seat. The vinyl is warm to the touch, and I pull my knees into my chest as I watch Seth prepare our desserts, his shirt swallowing me up.
He squirts a tiny, perfect little dollop of whipped cream on one piece, a more generous amount on the second slice, then drizzles raspberry sauce over the top of mine.
My mouth is officially watering, but I can’t tell you if it’s because of the dessert itself or the man carrying the dessert over to me. Probably a combination of both.
“This looks amazing,” I say as I take the plate and fork. “How did it not get all mangled when we went over the waves, though?”
Seth stretches one leg out in front of him, resting his elbow on his bent knee, and grins. “Magic.”
I roll my eyes and slide the side of my fork through the widest corner of the cake, making sure to get raspberry drizzle and whipped cream in the bite. I’m about to lift it to my mouth when I realize Seth is staring at me with an amused expression, his own cake untouched. Confused, I look down at my cake and his shirt and then wonder if my hair’s a big mess or something. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Do you eat every piece of cake like that?” He waves his fork at my plate. “Starting with the wrong end?”
My mouth falls open in disbelief even as I laugh. “The wrong end? It’s not the wrong end unless you’re a normal person. I don’t want to be a normal person. And yes, because then I get everything in one bite. Plus, when it’s pie, I get to eat the crust because it’s the best part. If I start with the tip, I’m too full by the time I get to the crust.”
“Ah. Very sound logic.”
“Thank you.”
“But you do realize you could just put more whipped cream on it, right?”
I give him an annoyed side glance, but I’m just trying really hard not to laugh.
“What? It’s true.” He cuts a bite of his cake from the normal-person side. I’m disappointed. “But by all means, be un-normal. I like it.” He drops his voice even though there’s nobody near us to hear. “You know why?”
