Page 57 of If Only In Our Dreams

Scary? Not so much.

But that didn’t seem to matter. Not to the girls, not to Robin, and certainly not to me.

At one point Jane accidentally knocked into the very same skeleton I’d pieced together for Robin. And rather than get angry when the pieces fell to the ground, scattering wildly, he simply laughed, bent down and picked up one of the bones, and handed it to her.

Jane’s eyes were wide, the waterworks that had been about to occur stalled by her confusion.

She watched warily as Robin picked up a femur for himself, and then jauntily tapped their bones together.

Delight spread across her face as rapidly as the sadness had.

She smacked him back.

Hard.

And for the last twenty minutes we spent in the backyard of the B&B I sat on the rickety fence and enjoyed the way Robin chased my daughters around. All of them smacked bones together, like a bastardization of fencing, and even Jane seemed to be warming up to him.

“Five minutes,” I called, even though we probably should’ve gone home ten minutes earlier. It was past their bedtime. I was very strict about bedtime. Circadian rhythms were important, especially for children their age.

“Ahhhh,” both girls complained.

Rosie was hiding behind a tombstone—not well, because her little pom-pom-topped hat was sticking out. Jane was just behind her, even more obvious. Robin was pretending like he hadn’t seen them, wandering around in “search of them” as my little hellions clearly planned to launch their very own attack.

They didn’t seem to realize that the fact they’d spoken had given them away entirely.

Robin gave no indication that it had, either.

He was a good sport.

Silly, yes.

And a good sport.

“Oh, where could they be,” he hummed to himself thoughtfully, hands on his hips. He took a long, exaggerated pause in front of the tombstone my darlings hid behind. He looked ridiculously cute like that. Though his cuteness was once again ruined by my very real concern that he was freezing.

I made a mental note to go through my closet and find him something warmer to wear to tide him over before I could take him shopping.

Riotous giggles escaped the girls, muffled by their gloves, but still ringing crystal clear despite that.

Upstairs in the B&B, the lights glowed yellow through the windows. There were several shadows watching us, but I paid them no mind. Belleville had and always would be the nosiest place in the world. I was not surprised that we were being watched. No doubt I’d get well-meaning, excited comments at work the next day.

Because no one had anything better to do than become incredibly invested in my non-existent love life.

Don’t ask me why it didn’t bother me that the whole town seemed to think Robin Johnson and I were an item.

And don’t ask me why I hadn’t corrected them.

Because correcting them felt like lying, and I wasn’t ready to fully acknowledge that yet.

“Stay here,” I hummed, situating Robin on the couch before doubling back for the girls and their winter gear. The grandfather clocktick, tickedand Rosie and Jane were so tired they barely complained as I tugged their coats and mittens off.

Half an hour later—a miracle, honestly, because normally it took far longer to get them bathed and into bed—the twins were sound asleep. Giddy, I took a deep breath and prepared myself for what was to come.

I’d insisted Robin come over.

It was only nine o’clock and I’d thought…perhaps a late dinner might be nice. When I’d asked him to come back with me he’d lit up like a kid on Christmas. Always eager to be included. It didn’t take my degree, or even my general interest in psychology for me to read between those lines.

Robin was a desperately lonely person.

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