Page 20 of Cooking Up My Comeback
“Very technical beach terminology,” she says solemnly, which makes him giggle harder. “Now, who wants to see if we can find any mermaids?”
“Mermaids aren’t real, Mom,” Crew says.
“That’s exactly what the mermaids want you to think,” she whispers conspiratorially.
She hesitates for exactly half asecond. Then she stands up and peels off her tank top and shorts in one fluid motion.
And I forget how to breathe.
Her swimsuit appears to be this vintage-style thing, modest but flattering, teal like the ocean on a clear day. She appears confident and beautiful and completely at ease.
She knows I’m watching. Has to. Because there’s this moment where she glances in my direction, and I swear I see satisfaction flash across her face when she catches me staring.
Then she grabs the boys and runs for the water, and I’m left standing here as though someone hit me with a two-by-four.
I sit back down, pick up my book, and pretend to read while really watching her play with her kids in the surf. She’s completely unselfconscious with them. Splashing and shrieking and letting Mason convince her that a piece of seaweed remains definitely a shark.
This remains what she’s like when she’s not stressed about money or jobs. This remains Amber in her element, playful and present and absolutely captivating.
When they finally head back up the beach, the boys run ahead, chasing some poor crab. And Amber walks straight toward me.
Water’s still dripping from her hair. Her skin’s flushed from the sun and cold water.
I lower my book because there’s no pretending I wasn’t watching.
“You know,” she says, plopping down onto the sand near my umbrella without invitation, “most people bring a book to the beach because they actually plan to read it.”
I grunt and hold up the paperback. “I’m reading.”
“Really? What’s it about?”
I glance down at the cover, realizing I have no idea what I’ve been staring at for the past twenty minutes. “It’s... educational.”
“Come on, Walker. What’s got you so grumpy today? You’ve got that face.”
“What face?”
“The one that says ‘everyone should leave me alone to brood in peace.’ Very dramatic. Very brooding hero.” She grins. “Are you practicing for a romance novel cover?”
I scowl deeper, which only makes her laugh.
“Maybe I came here for peace and quiet.”
“At the beach? During Labor Day weekend? With kids everywhere?” She gestures toward a nearby family where three children are having a sand-throwing contest. “That’s like going to a fireworks show for the silence.”
“Some of us prefer quiet activities.”
“Such as staring at people instead of reading swoony romance novels?”
The heat in my neck spreads to my ears. “I wasn’t staring.”
“Brett Walker, you’ve been watching me and the boys for the past half hour as though we’re the most fascinating reality show ever.” She lies back on her elbows, completely unfazed by my glowering. “Which remains fine, by the way. We’re very entertaining. Mason’s got a whole routine involving crab negotiations.”
“Crab negotiations?”
“Very serious diplomatic work. He’s convinced they’ll share their shells if he offers them the right snacks.” She grins. “Yesterday he spent twenty minutes trying to barter a goldfish cracker for what he called ‘borrowing rights’ to a hermit crab shell.”
I set my book down. “Maybe I don’t enjoy fun.”
