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Weston
Kaela awakens, and Anna goes to soothe her while I get the food prepped.
She finds me on the back deck, seasoning the meat before placing it on the flat iron.
“She’s down for the count,” she says as she walks up behind me.
“Good. I was about to cry with her,” I say.
She sits on the edge of the picnic table, facing me as I flip the pork chops to get a good sear on both sides before moving them to the top rack of the grill.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
I look over at her. “For what?” I ask.
“About the crying. Her molars are breaking through, and I’ve tried all the teething tricks to soothe her—rubbing her gums, freezing a washcloth, and putting her teething toys in the fridge. They all worked when her first tooth popped through, but these back teeth are something altogether different.”
I close the lid to the grill and face her. “The crying doesn’t bother me. It just breaks my heart that she’s hurting and there’s nothing I can do to fix it for her. She can whine at the top of her lungs if it helps. Hell, I’ll whine with her.”
“Please don’t. I can’t handle two screaming babies.”
“Hey, sometimes, screaming just makes you feel better. You should try it.”
She laughs. “Thanks for letting us stay the night. It’s kind of nice to have a grown-up to talk to after she’s tucked in,” she admits.
“See, I told you a sleepover would be fun. We can build a fire and even hop into the hot tub after we eat.”
She turns and looks longingly at the covered Jacuzzi that’s humming in the corner of the deck. “It’s been so long since I’ve soaked in jets. We planned to redo the bathroom in the cottage and add a tub, but we never got to that part of the remodel.”
“Tell you what. You go ahead and jump in, and I’ll finish cooking.”
I walk over and press the button that lifts the lid to the Jacuzzi and check the temperature. It’s perfect.
“No. I’ll help you,” she protests.
“The potatoes are in the oven, the chops have about thirty minutes left, and I’ll toss the corn on the grill after it’s done. There’s nothing you need to do.”
“I don’t have a suit,” she says.
“So. Get in, in your underwear,” I suggest.
Her eyes go round. “No way,” she says.
“Why not? A bra and panties cover as much as a bikini,” I tell her.
“I know, but it just feels more intimate.”
“I’ll go fetch my bathrobe and a towel for you, and by the time I’m back, you’ll be covered by the water.”
I can tell that she wants to take me up on the offer.
“I promise I won’t peek.”
I can see the moment she decides to go for it.
“Are you going to join me?” she asks.
The thought of getting into the steamy water with her in nothing but her lingerie causes parts of my anatomy to react.
