Page 40 of From Maybe to Baby

"Because it's accurate. Last week Lukas tried to convince me that pants were optional for grocery shopping."

"And?"

"And we compromised on shorts because that’s what the parenting books call 'choosing my battles.'"

"There are books for this sort of thing?"

"So many books." He shifts Jace to his shoulder with practiced ease. "None of which prepared me for finding my phone in the freezer. Or explaining why we can't adopt the resort's volcano. Or why eating sand is not, in fact, how you become a mermaid."

"But Daddy," Jace pipes up, "the sand lady said?—"

"The sand lady was trying to sell us shell necklaces, Jace. Pretty sure she's not a marine biologist."

I watch him handle the inevitable follow-up questions about marine biology with patient humor, and something warm knots up in my chest. It should not be this attractive to watch someone parent. It should definitely not be this attractive to watch someone make dad jokes while teaching water safety.

And yet.

"You're staring," he says.

"I'm observing. For the article."

"Very professional."

"Always."

"DAD," Lukas interrupts our moment with impeccable kid timing. "Show Miss Minty your dive. The cool one."

Before I can pretend to be fascinated by my notebook, Jonas sets both kids down, walks to the edge of the pool, and executes a perfect dive that does wonderful, terrible things to those board shorts.

"Show off," I accuse when he surfaces.

"Can't help it." He pushes wet hair back in a way that's completely unfair and leans toward me over the edge of the pool. "I'm very professional about my sports."

"Is that what that was? A sport?"

"Among other things," he says.

"Very professional things?"

"Of course." But his eyes say something else entirely. Something that makes me want to be very unprofessional.

"Miss Minty." Jace demands attention with the authority of a tiny CEO. "I’m floating."

Jonas turns to support her with one hand, teaching her to trust the water, and the pride in his expression does something warm and dangerous to my chest.

How dare he make dad-mode look sexy. How dare he be good with kidsandgood-lookingandgood in general. How dare he make me question every rule I've ever made about avoiding men with responsibilities.

"You should join us," he says. "For your story. Get a participant's perspective."

"I'm good here. Being professional. Staying dry. That sort of thing."

"Always so professional." His smile suggests he sees right through me. "Even while comparing my children to drunk people."

"That was a scientific observation."

"Very scientific. Like your observations about my diving?"

I feel myself blush. "That's different."

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