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“I suppose so.” I wrap Charlie’s feet up and rest them on my lap. “What do you suggest we do now?”
“Can you tell me a story?” Charlie asks. His eyes are closed, but he is obviously still listening.
“Sure, kiddo.” Cole clears his throat.
“No, I want Savannah to tell me a story. I like hearing her talk. It’s like bells ringing.”
“What?” I ask, laughing. “That’s a really nice thing to say, Charlie.”
“Charlie, Savannah probably has places to be.”
This is exactly where I want to be. I can’t imagine anyone else I would rather be spending time with right now.
“I’m all yours. I’ve got nothing but time,” I assure them both.
Light shines in Cole’s eyes. He adjusts Charlie in his lap, and sprawls an arm against the back of the loveseat. His fingers trail against my shoulder.
“Well. I guess a story would be good, then.”
“What story should I tell?” I ask the sleepy little boy.
“I don’t know. Something new,” Charlie murmurs.
I think for a second. “Have you ever heard the story of The Little Prince? It’s my nephew’s favorite. I’ve got it on my phone.”
Charlie shakes his head.
“Then that’s the one I’ll tell.” I get my phone out of the pocket of my dress and hold it aloft. “You’re going to love this book, Charlie. Get comfy and I’ll start.”
I glance at Cole. He’s looking at me, the corners of his lips lifted in an enigmatic smile. He runs his fingers through Charlie’s silky hair and puts up not one more word of protest.
Biting my lip, I begin to read. The book of princes, planets, roses, and sheep is sweet but short. By the time I read the last lines, both Charlie and Cole have closed their eyes to catch some much-needed sleep.
Turning my phone off, I let it fall to my lap, greedily devouring the sight of father and son slumbering tranquilly.
18
Cole
I hunch over the motor of the airboat, muttering curses under my breath. “Why won’t this godforsaken engine start?”
I pull the cord again, only to be treated to the sound of it winding back.
Savannah sighs and shifts her weight impatiently. I can just picture her standing in her white swamp boots, hip cocked, looking at me with disdain.
The way her perfect ass is encased in those tight blue jeans is making matters worse.
Thinking about her ass makes me hot and tense. My neck heats and I rip at the cord again.
Nothing.
“Did you engage the safety latch first?” Sav suggests.
Refusing to look over my shoulder, I glare down at the motor. Underneath the steering column, a small red box is outlined against the boat’s white hull. Beside it is the bold red word “START”. Inside the red lines of the box is a small throw switch. I throw it a few times as if testing the switch, and pull the cord again.
The engine starts with a sputtering roar.
God, I hate that she was right.
