Page 78 of The Single Dads Club
At the beach, we put on sunscreen in the parking lot. Getting Grier done is a lot easier with two people—one to hold the squirmy toddler, and one to apply the cream.
After buying her a plastic bucket and shovel on the pier, we weave through plenty of spread-out towels on the sand before finding an unclaimed spot to put down our blanket and basket. I’d forgotten that beach season around here starts the instant school lets out.
Taking note of how huge Grier’s eyes grow at the sight of the ocean, I ask, “Should we check out the water?”
Her rapturous smile says it all.
Corrigan and I take off her shoes and socks, then bend to each hold one of her hands and help her step through the very edge of the lapping waves. Every time the cool water washes over her feet, she squeals and dances.
I glance over her head to Corrigan, only to find her already looking at me, and something intense and searching in her eyes paralyzes me. I can’t bring myself to break our shared gaze and I only look away when she does.
After Grier has had her fill of the ocean, we spend a little while just lounging in the sun while watching Grier dig a hole and occasionally gasp when a tiny crab scuttles past.
Eventually, I ask, “What should we do next?”
“Hmm ... how about a sandcastle?” Corrigan says, smiling at Grier.
Grier cocks her head. “Castle?”
“Just like the ones in your princess books, love bug. Except we make these ones out of sand, see?” I demonstrate, scooping wet sand into her bucket and upending it to form a messy but functional tower.
Grier squeals and wriggles in excitement, reaching out. “Gimme bucket!”
“Don’t you want help?” I ask.
Grier shakes her head firmly. “No. Me do it.”
I see we’re on a roll today as far as stubborn independence goes.I chuckle. There are worse personality traits.
“Are you sure?” Corrigan asks Grier. “If you tell us what to do, we can make a much bigger castle than if you had to do everything all by yourself.”
Grier considers, clearly intrigued by the idea of bossing adults around, then nods.
We get to work helping Grier build towers, and decorate them with pebbles and dune grass according to her exacting standards. The sight of Corrigan playing and giggling with my daughter coaxes out a laugh of my own. Plus, my kid is just really adorable.
Corrigan glances at me, a smile still pulling at her lips. “What?”
“Nothing. It’s just, I guess some things never change. You always did love the beach.”
She gives me a strange look. “You seem to remember an awful lot about me.”
My tongue is suddenly tangled with itself. “Well, you made a big impression on me.”
She quickly turns away. Her cheeks seem pink, and I can’t tell if it’s anger, or just the sun, or something else I don’t dare to name.
No, it can’t be that last one. I can hear her voice in my head as clearly as if she’d spoken aloud.Evidently not a big enough impression to make you stay.
But what if thatisn’thow she feels? We never did get anywhere conclusive about that part of our past. Maybe she’s forgiven me—well, probably not, but accepting my apology and moving on from it seems within the realm of possibility. She did listen to what I had to say, and she agreed to work for me.. it’s something I guess.
Mentally, I shake my head. It’s not like I can ask her outright to confirm whether this is just wishful thinking or not. If I’m wrong, it’ll ruin the tentative truce between us and send us back to square one. Besides, what difference does it make whether she likes me or just tolerates me because I’m paying her to look after my daughter? Everything is different now. Our relationship is strictly professional.
Well, on my end, it’s far from that. I can’t lie to myself about the way my body reacts to the sight of Corrigan’s bare legs, her curves, her smile, her dark blond hair shining in the sun. Even just her eyes meeting mine sparks electricity down my spine and straight into my groin.
But professional is what it should be. That’s what’s best for Grier.
This silence has stretched on too long. I cover up the awkward moment by asking, “Are you getting hungry?”
Corrigan shrugs. “I could eat.” She looks to Grier, her mouth quirking. “How about you, little architect? Break for lunch, or keep bringing your artistic vision to life?”
