Page 70 of Perfectly Grumpy

“The kids…or Tate?” she asks, her lips curving as she takes Annie.

“I’m not even answering that question,” I reply as I turn back to watch Tate.

He grins as both the kids jump on him, dunking him under the water.

Tate resurfaces with a laugh, shaking the water from his hair, looking as good as he did for the pictures earlier. Not that I’m staring or anything. He’s just unfairly handsome when he grins like that, probably because he doesn’t do it a lot. His smiles are like buried treasure—and I want to find every one of them.

Stripping off my cover-up, I take a deep breathand wade into the water. Tate has his back to me, launching the kids into the waves, while they squeal and beg for more. He turns around mid-laugh—only to freeze when he sees me already knee-deep in the water. The grin falters, his eyes catching on me like he wasn’t expecting this version of me.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” I say, suddenly wondering if I should’ve stayed on the beach. Away from him and this pull between us.

“No, it’s just…I wasn’t expecting you to take off that cover-up. I figured you were parked on the blanket for the day.”

Before I can respond, Kaylie’s shrieking puts an end to our moment. “Aunt Lauren, let’s swim out to the sandbar!”

“Okay,” I say, grateful for the interruption. “Race you there!”

Tate follows a few paces behind, and I can feel him observing me as we wade into deeper water. After thirty minutes of water tag, Jake comes and gets the kids for a juice break, leaving us alone on the sandbar.

“Well, that was quick,” I say, watching them run up the beach. “One mention of juice boxes and I’m completely forgotten. Although it’s probably good, because they wore me out.”

“Want to head back?” Tate asks.

I look out at the open water beyond the sandbar, suddenly feeling adventurous. I like being out here alone with Tate where no one can bother us. “Actually, let’s swim out a little further. Just to see what it’s like.”

“Really? I thought you said you were tired.”

“It was just the kids,” I say. “Besides, I’m an excellent swimmer.”

“Let’s go, then,” he says, following as I wade into slightly deeper water beyond the sandbar. The bottom drops away more quickly than I expect, and suddenly I can’t touch. I begin treading water, noting how the water feels different out here. Each wave lifts me higher than the last, and the current I barely noticed before now seems to pull me under with surprising strength. A larger wave rolls in, lifting me up and then dropping me into atrough that’s deeper than I think it should be. For a split second, my head dips under, salt water burning my nose.

I come up sputtering, kicking hard to keep my head above water, and that’s when it happens. My left calf cramps violently, a charley horse so sudden and intense that I gasp.

“Cramp!” I yell.

I reach down to grab my leg while simultaneously trying to stay afloat—a feat that’s next to impossible while fighting the waves.

Tate dives under the water and is next to me in an instant. “Lauren? Where is it?”

“Calf,” I groan through gritted teeth. The pain is excruciating, like someone’s driving a knife into my muscle and twisting. “Left leg.”

Tate’s arm wraps around my waist. “Stop kicking,” he orders. “You’re making it worse.”

“I kind of need to kick to stay above water,” I say through gritted teeth.

“I’ve got you, Lauren,” he says calmly. “Just let your leg relax.”

Easy for him to say, he’s not in paralyzing pain. “I can’t—the muscle won’t release.”

Another wave hits us, and I instinctively grab on to his shoulders to keep my head above water. “It’s so painful. Just make it stop.”

“Here,” he says, shifting his body slightly in the water. “Hold on to me.” I cling to him as his hands move to my calf, his fingers pressing into the knotted muscle. The initial pressure makes me gasp as pain shoots through me.

“I’m so sorry, Lauren,” he says calmly. “But try to point your toe toward your knee.”

“I can’t,” I say, the cramp drilling into me. “It hurts too much.”

“I know. But trust me, it works. Just follow my instructions.” His voice is steady, while his hands work the muscle. I try to move my foot, but the pain makes me want to swear like Big Bertha.

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