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August cocks his head, thoughtful. “Depends where we’re going.”
As I copy his stance, my gaze strays towards the nearest window, noting the sun spilling in. “Beach?”
He narrows his eyes. “Can we get ice cream?”
I mimic him again. “Don’t be silly. Of course we can.”
* * *
There is a veritable kingdom taking up a large portion of Sun Strand.
Beach chairs, sun shades, towels and toys and so many bodies playing in the sand, frolicking in the waves, soaking up the warm sun whose absence I so dearly missed.
“Is that…”
August doesn’t finish his question—he knows the answer. It is, in fact, the Morgan-Silva-Jackson-Evans-Acharya-Butcher family. Clearly, they had the same idea as us.
August and I linger on the outskirts of a family we haven’t quite completely infiltrated yet. “Do we…” My kid trails off again, grimacing up at me. “Do we, like, say something?”
“Uh.” I swallow over the nervous lump in my throat. “I guess.”
“Okay.”
“Go on, then.”
“You do it.”
“It was your idea.”
“You’re the adult.”
“Exactly.” I bump my hips against his. “And as the adult, I’m telling you to go over there.”
“What if they don’t want us to?”
Fuck. I was hoping we didn’t share that fear. “We can just—”
Pretend we didn’t see them and back away slowly, I’m about to very maturely suggest.
But, in an oh-so-typical turn of events, I don’t get the chance to save us from a potentially awkward encounter. Instead, I get the most awkward encounter possible in the form of Cass jogging through the sand towards us, waving and yelling our names.
Shirtless, of course.
It’s odd, considering the circumstances, that this is my first time seeing Cass’ bare chest in all its glory. I’ve only gotten glimpses beneath a hastily unbuttoned shirt, brushes of my fingertips against soft skin and hard muscles. I internally curse myself for being so remiss as to not take a few extra seconds to properly undress him because God, it’s a sight. I vaguely recall an article cracking jokes about his physique, calling him out of shape, and if this is him out of shape… Jesus.
“Hey.” An animated greeting draws my attention away from a sandy, glistening abdomen. “You’re here.”
“Yeah.” I cough. “Sorry. We weren’t tryna gatecrash or anything.”
Cass shakes his head, frowning. “You’re not. I texted you.”
“I didn’t get it.”
“Oh.” We both turn towards a sheepish August. “I turned your phone off after John called. He kept texting you.”
A couple of problems suddenly arise at once. One: whatever John said, August obviously saw, if the look on his face is anything to go by. Two: Cass clocks August’s face. “What did he say?”
“He was supposed to visit today,” I quickly answer before August can sell me out—a too common occurrence these days. “He canceled. No big deal.” I jab August with my elbow. “Right?”
