“I don’t care.”
“No!” I lurch forward, crawling toward him.
His eyes widen with my approach.
Lifting onto my knees, I fold my hands in front of my chest. “Please, please, pretty pretty please … a yes or no. I need a yes or no.”
His lips twitch, and after a few seconds he can’t hide his smile. It’s like salvation—a needed reminder that I haven’t broken him. It’s still early. I have eight more years to royally mess up this kid.
“Yes.” He laughs.
“YES!” I throw my arms in the air.
“You’re so weird.”
I climb to my feet. “It’s in the Glock family. There’s nothing you can do to stop it. One day … you’ll be weird too.” I wink and get out of here before he changes his mind or calls me something more extreme than weird—like menopausal.
Taking one last stroll through the main room, I peek into the master bedroom and en suite bathroom before descending the stairs. “We’ll take it, if you’ll have us.”
Hugh mutes the TV from his fancy recliner. “You got it, Elvis.”
I grin. Elvis I am not. However, Mr. Hans is quirky and endearing, so I’ll let the Elvis thing slide. This place isn’t ideal, or where I imagined myself just a few months ago, but I’m doing something important—maybe for the first time in my life.
Gabe will be okay. I’ll figure things out for us. For now, this beach house with sand-colored tiled floors, beige walls, and white and brown speckled carpet is just fine—beachfront property I could never afford on my own. And it’s fifteen minutes from Gabe’s school and thirty minutes from my new job.
“Rental agreement is on the kitchen counter. You can leave a check or pay cash and move in as early as Friday. I’ll get those stairs to the master bedroom’s balcony finished by then.”
“Sounds perfect. Thank you.” As I sign the rental agreement and fill out a check, Gabe makes his way downstairs.
“Go explore the beach, Mr. Gabriel.” Hugh coughs on his words a few times before clearing his throat.
“Yeah, let’s check it out.” I fold my copy of the rental agreement and follow Gabe to the front door. “Thank you, Hugh. We’ll be back Friday afternoon with some boxes and hopefully get some movers to bring the big stuff.”
“If the good Lord don’t taketh me by then, I’ll be here.”
I’m not sure how to respond to that, so I opt for a wordless smile. Sometimes the good Lord indiscriminately takes whomever he chooses, or so I’ve learned. As soon as I close the door behind us, Gabe plucks his phone from his pocket and follows several feet behind me to the beach.
“I’d take off your shoes again if you don’t want sand in them.” I toe off my white canvas sneakers when we reach the sand.
Gabe keeps walking, nose into his phone, sand surely filling his shoes.
“Or … leave them on,” I murmur. “Don’t you want to dip your toes in the water?”
He shakes his head, stopping halfway to the water. “No, thank you. Not exactly my first time at the beach.” He drops to his knees in the sand, hovering over his phone to shade the screen as he squints at it.
I continue toward the water, stopping just before reaching the wet sand to roll up the legs to my jeans.
“Hello!” The young, wavy-haired blond girl trudges through the sand toward me.
“Hi.” I plant my hand at my forehead to block the sun from my eyes.
“What’s he doing?” She nods toward Gabe. “Are you living in that house? My dad and I just got here. We’re staying for three months. Then we’re moving to Madison … that’s in Wisconsin, where I was born. I’ll start real school, well—public school—this fall. I’ll be in fifth grade for now, but my Dad says I might be too smart for the fifth grade. I don’t know how he knows that, since I’ve never been in any grade.”
Wow! Okay … she’s quite talkative. Good with words, not like my nephew who tends to mumble all his words, stutter occasionally, and speaks in grunts and shrugs. It’s possible she’s a little advanced for ten, but I know one other ten-year-old, so the comparison isn’t the best.
“That’s my nephew, Gabriel … Gabe. And yes, we’re renting the top floor of Mr. Hans’s house. Gabe will be in fifth grade this fall too.”
“But what’s he doing?” She wrinkles her nose and stares at him through squinted eyes.
“He’s playing a game on his phone.”
“Oh …” Her head jerks back, and she widens her blue eyes at me. “Do not let my dad see him on that. He abhors technology.”
Abhors …
Definitely not a ten-year-old word.
“I don’t abhor it.”
My gaze snaps to the deep voice and …
Jamie!
Not really James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser “Jamie” from my obsession Outlander, but his doppelgänger.