Page 87 of Summer People
Lightness takes over, making me feel like I might float away. “What’s going on?”
He looks absolutely adorable. His messy, floppy brown hair is pulled back with a pink scrunchy so it doesn’t get stuck in what I’m guessing is one of the face masks Libby and I ordered last week. It’s got hibiscus oil in it and smells so freaking amazing, and because it’s for sensitive skin, it’s safe for kids.
Sutton grins. “We’re doing face masks.”
As Fisher dunks a towel in a bowl filled with water and flowers, like in a fancy spa, Sutton holds up a finger and glares at him. “It needs to stay on for five more minutes.”
Fisher’s jaw ticks, like he wants to react one way but is holding it back because he loves his little girl. It’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.
“Do you do this often?” I survey the room. A handful of pink and purple pillows from Sutton’s bed are set up on the floor, and the coffee table is pushed back and covered in all of her spa goodies.
Fisher sits on one of those pillows, peering up at me like he’s begging for help.
I want to kiss him so badly. This might be the sexiest he’s ever looked. Covered in goo, showing his love for his girl. The smile that takes over my face is so big my cheeks ache.
His pathetic expression morphs into one of adoration, though his voice is rough as he mumbles, “Once a month.”
“Four more minutes,” Sutton reminds him.
His face falls in defeat, making it nearly impossible not to drop to my knees to cuddle him.
I turn my focus to Sutton so I don’t ruin their special moment. “What’s the news, pretty girl?”
“You can’t tell her yet,” Fisher says, his eyes narrowing.
Sutton drops her head back, groaning. “Why?”
“Because I won’t be able to kiss her with all this stuff on my face.”
My heart thumps against my breastbone. God, I love him.
Shit. I really love him.
I suck in a breath to keep myself from saying it. It’s too soon. But it’s real. I know without a doubt that I love them both.
Sutton scrunches her nose. “Ew. Why do you have to be like that?” With a roll of her eyes, she dunks a towel in the water. “You can take it off.”
Rather than pass the towel to him, she does the most adorable thing. She stretches forward and cleans the pink goo off his face for him. The way he sits patiently, eyes closed, allowing her to give him this facial, breaks me wide open. It’s mind-boggling, knowing he has even the smallest doubts about how good he is for her. I’ve never seen such devotion. My dad is wonderful, and he’s done a lot for me, but never has he let me give him a facial.
Monthly facials. I’m just…wow. Yup, I love the guy.
Once she dries his face, he pulls the scrunchie off his head and tosses it at me. “Crying over there?”
I shrug my shoulders and feign indifference. “Just got something in my eye.”
Sutton cups a hand to her mouth and whisper shouts, “Your nose is growing, Libby.”
Fisher washes Sutton’s face just like she did his, taking his time, with his tongue pressed into his cheek as he swipes the washcloth delicately around her eyes, careful not to get any of the goo in them. After he pats her skin dry, he gives me one of those warm smiles again.
He looks good wearing a smile. This one is full of pride. Like all he’s got—Sutton and me and this place—is enough. I really hope it is. My life is a disaster, but by some miracle, just being me and being here seem to be enough for him. It’s a heady sensation. Addictive. I’ve never been enough on my own. I’ve always taken on a role. Quiet. Effusive. Bright and shiny. Whatever was needed at the time. Whatever role I was throwninto. I’d make work. But being me? That’s a role I’ve never had the opportunity to explore thoroughly, and I’m rather enjoying it.
He’s dressed in his typical jeans and flannel, white shirt untucked. A little messy and unkempt. Completely cozy-looking. My body itches to go to him. To lean into his chest. To feel the brush of his lips against my forehead. To close my eyes and just inhale. This feeling. His scent. This summer.
“You can tell her now,” he says to our girl as she takes another bite of cookie.
I’m not sure when I started thinking of her as ours, but in that moment, with her attention fixed on me, her blue eyes so bright, a cookie crumb clinging to her lip, one overall strap falling off her shoulder, I’m desperate for it to be true.
“You were nominated for an Emmy!” She bounces, her braids swinging.
