Page 21 of From Maybe to Baby

Water cascadesoff my laptop screen, which is now making a concerning clicking sound that probably isn't covered by AppleCare. Pretty sure "death by tiny tsunami" isn't in the warranty fine print. I start hitting keys, like that’s going to do anything. Pretty sure computer CPR is not a thing.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry." A deep voice penetrates my devastation "Kids, what did we say about cannonballs?"

"But Dad, you said we could practice our 'splosions for the volcano show," a beautiful little boy says.

"Yeah, Daddy," his equally beautiful smaller sister says.

I look up from my drowned technology to find the perpetrators—two tiny humans in matching swimsuits, each wearing expressions of pure joy that suggest they have zero remorse for their aquatic crime. Behind them stands their father, who's currently doing that panicked parent dance of trying to discipline and apologize simultaneously.

"We do splashes in the MIDDLE of the pool," he's saying, taking his cap off and running a hand through wet hair that really has no business looking that good. "Not near people's..." He glances at my laptop. "Expensive computers."

“Dad, you said people shouldn’t bring laptops to the pool,” the boy says, tugging his father’s arm.

His mouth drops open and he realizes he’s busted.

I narrow my eyes at him.

The kids take off for the pool slide, leaving dad to deal with the aftermath. Which is when I really look at him, and oh...

Oh no.

"Daddy" is approximately six-foot-forever of pure muscle, wearing board shorts that suggest he spends a significant amount of time working out. Water drips down abs that look Photoshopped, which are clearly not—I'm close enough to verify. His cap, which says San Francisco Aftershocks, is pulled low once he puts it back on, but not low enough to hide the kind of blue eyes that should come with a warning label.

"I'm Jonas," he says, as if I don't know who he is. As if I haven't seen Jonas Knight’s face plastered all over ESPN's "Most Eligible Athletes" list. As if my now-waterlogged laptop doesn't contain a half-written article about family-friendly activities that may have mentioned the "hot single dad hockey star" rumored to be vacationing here this month. "And I think I owe you a new laptop."

"You think?" My voice hits a pitch usually reserved for dog whistles. Around us, a small crowd has gathered to watch what I'm sure they hope will be an epic meltdown. The mom squad from earlier has stopped their kids' club strategizing to stare openly at the sad, hard-working single lady.

Fuck them all.

"I'm really sorry," he says again, and the worst part is he sounds genuinely apologetic.

Oh why can’t he be a jerk?

He points at my laptop. "I can replace it. And maybe buy you dinner to make up for?—"

"Dad." One of his little offspring returns, tugging his hand. "The volcano's gonna 'splode soon. You promised we could watch.”

"In a minute, buddy. Daddy's trying to?—"

"Daddy,” the smaller one screams.

A woman nearby sighs. Actually. Sighs. Like this is some kind of Hallmark movie moment and not the death scene ofmy primary work tool. Like I really am some sort of sad, hard-working single lady looking to meet my Prince Charming.

When in reality I’m pissed as hell and jonesing to commit murder.

"I should..." Jonas gestures helplessly at his kids, who are now climbing him like an attractive jungle gym. "Can we maybe..."

"ONE MINUTE UNTIL VOLCANO TIME." A resort staff member announces, sending every child into a frenzy.

"Please," Jonas tries again, somehow maintaining his balance while his daughter uses his shoulders as chair. "Let me make this right. Dinner? Or coffee? Or..." He looks at my laptop, which flickers one last time, mocking me and everything I stand for. "Best Buy? I’m sure they have one here on the island. Or, I could order you one and have it overnighted."

I should say no. Should maintain professional distance. Should remember every reason why even talking to hot dad is absolutely not on my vacation agenda.

And where’s his wife, by the way? The mother of his gorgeous children?

Instead, I hear myself say, "Coffee might be a start. Considering I won't be sleeping anyway, now that I have to rewrite this entire article."

He grins, and oh, that's not fair at all. Damn him.

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