Page 119 of When It's Us
“Good,” he says.
I close my eyes, letting the quiet settle between us. It’s the first time in a long time I don’t feel like I’m falling apart—but I wonder how long that will last.
Hutch
Thistimeofdayon the lake is my favorite. The sun hits the water, shimmering a burnished gold, like dark swallowing light. We’ve finished lunch, and I sit beside Ginger at the picnic table, feeling the warmth of the day settle into my skin.
Jordan’s laughter echoes across the open space as he sprints down the dock, Tate right behind him, their bare feet slapping against the wood.
Glancing back at Ginger, I can’t tear my eyes off her. The sunlight catches her red hair, and her creamy skin is flushed. She lookscomfortablehere—like she belongs and’s finally breathing a little easier. Her curls are pulled back loosely, freckles splashed across her cheeks, and there’s a softness to her expression I don’t see too often. So far from the woman I picked up on day one of that road trip.
And fuck if that doesn’t hit me right in the chest.
She calls after the boys to slow down, but it’s barely even a real warning. More like a habit or a reflex, something she says because she trusts them to be alright. It’s one of those small, quiet moments that shouldn’t make my chest tighten but does anyway.
Still, I love the moments I get to see her be a mom, and it’s a mindfuck. Three weeks ago, I never pictured myself spending thismuch time with her—let alone her kids. The sex between us is still incredible, but lately, there’s this little tug in me that I can’t ignore.
Ishouldn’tfeel like this.
But I do.
The way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention—soft, almost thoughtful—triggers something in me, a warmth I can’t shake. It’s a stupid thought, but I can’t help it: I wonder if I could actually do this. Be here. For her. For them. Could we ever be more? Would she even want that?
But as soon as I have that thought, I push it away. I made a choice a long time ago to shut that part of my life down, and I knew I had to stick with it.
“Slow down!” Ginger calls again, but it’s just noise now.
The boys race toward the end of the dock, their laughter carrying on the air. I should be paying attention, making sure they don’t take a header into the lake. But I can’t seem to focus on anything else but the way Ginger moves beside me. The way sheexistshere, in this space.
I don’t know what the hell’s happening to me.
Then, Jordan yelps, and it cuts through the air, sharp and immediate.
“Ow!”
Without thinking, I’m already moving, my legs carrying me toward the dock. Ginger’s a step ahead, that motherly instinct she wears so well kicking in as she drops to her knees beside him. Jordan’s clutching his foot, Tate’s standing by, looking concerned, his teeth working his bottom lip.
I don’t do kids. Not like this, anyway. Got nieces—sure, but I’ve never been the one to take care of them. Unless you count paying taxes on all the cussing I do.
“Let me see, bud,” she says, voice calm, soothing. She’s good at this. Really good. And I can’t help but admire her in these moments. Like she was born to be a mom.
Jordan hops on one foot, then folds onto the dock with his leg outstretched, eyes wide but dry. Tough little guy. I can see the way he’s holding it together, but I also see the uncertainty in his face.
“Looks like a sliver. Nothing big,” Ginger says, glancing over at me. “Do you have tweezers?”
I nod, already turning to head toward the shop.
I grab the tweezers and jog back, the pulse of my heartbeat steady in my ears. When I get to the dock, I go to hand them over.
“Can you?” she mouths.
I catch a flicker of something in Ginger’s eyes. It’s hard to place—something soft but mixed with uncertainty. And maybe…a little bit ofrelief?
I crouch next to Jordan. “Guess the dock won that race, huh? Took a tiny piece of you for the trophy.”
Jordan snorts, and the tension in his body starts to loosen. The shift is small, but I love that he isn’t scowling at me. He’s definitely warmed up to me. Again, he’s protective of his mom, and kids are perceptive. He doesn’t cry. He doesn’t fall apart. Even with a sliver in his foot, he handles it like a soldier.
“The deck attacked me,” he says, a small grin quirking up his lips.
