Page 32 of Surrender

Rounding the corner, I find them seated at the kitchen table. Bowls of different substances are spread across the surface, too far away for my bleary eyes to make out.

“What’s this?” I ask groggily.

Jack scratches his cheek with his thumb. “I think it’s called sensory play? I googled things to do with a toddler. She came out and said you were still sleeping. I didn’t want to wake you.”

Jack set up sensory play with my three-year-old?

I step closer to their space, not wanting to interrupt Lucy’s concentration. Sure enough, each kitchen bowl contains a different textured food. Small grains of rice, smooth dry beans, dry spiral pasta, mini marshmallows, what looks like Jell-O, whipped cream, and even a bowl of fresh snow.

“How long has she been out here?”

Jack checks the clock on the stove. “About an hour. She hasn’t moved since I set this up.” His response is equally quiet. Something about his deep tenor slips soothingly over my skin.

“You’re good at this.”

“Hmm?”

I wave a hand between us before gripping my opposite elbow. “This. I spent all day inside with these two, and it would have never crossed my mind to set up something like this.”

His mouth opens and closes as if he’s at a loss for words. He presses his lips into a thin line before cocking a brow. “I’m sure you would have if you were in your own home.”

“Nope.” I grin. A red stain spreads across his cheeks. “Are you blushing?”

Jack turns to the sliding glass door and brushes his index finger across his cheek. “No,” he growls out.

“Must have been the lighting,” I tease.

“Here, Mr. Jack. Hold this one.” Without looking up, Lucy holds out a single dried bean. Jack dutifully extends his palm, and she drops the bean on it, then resumes her play without further instruction.

Jack looks at the bean, then Lucy, then back at the bean before biting back a grin. “Now what?” he whispers loudly.

“I think you’re stuck there,” I stage-whisper back.

“If that’s the case, do you mind grabbing me a…” He falters, glancing at Lucy before looking back up at me. “A b-e-e-r from the fridge?”

“You can say beer in front of the kids.”

Why does his consideration for my kids make my stomach flutter? My tongue swipes against my suddenly dry lips, and I duck my head into the refrigerator a few seconds longer than necessary. The burst of cool air diminishes the flush on my cheeks.

“Your kids, your rules.”

His fingers brush against mine as he takes the bottle from my outstretched hand. My fingers slip through the condensation, cold where they touch the bottle but warm where they touch him.

I withdraw hastily and wipe my palm on my jeans. A glance at the clock reveals it’s nearly six. My face scrunches. “I was out for a really long time. I’m sorry about that.”

“You needed it.”

I puff out a breath. “I did. Do you have anything you need to do? I can take over here.”

“Nuh-uh. I’m the designated bean holder. I take this duty very seriously.”

I roll my lips to bite back a smile. “In that case, I’ll get something started for dinner. Any requests?”

His gaze feels heavy on my back. Not judgmental but watchful. “Help yourself. I shopped indiscriminately.”

“I think…” I pause, eyeing the eggs and parmesan in the fridge. I check the cabinet for pasta. “I’m going to make spaghetti carbonara if that’s all right with you.”

“You’re spoiling me. I made you a frozen lasagna and boxed pancakes. You’re using my kitchen and ingredients like you’re on a cooking show.”

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