He stood in front of her, drops of water clinging to his arms and chest, dripping down the ridges of his stomach.
Jack ran up beside him. “We’re swim buddies. Right, Matt? Matt says you should always swim with a buddy.”
Matt’s raised eyebrows and the smirk he was fighting told her she’d been busted for gawking. “Do you want to come out? The water’s great.”
“Um, no. No, thanks. I’m not a strong swimmer. I mean I can swim, I just—”
“I’ll be your swim buddy.” He grinned and she caught a hint of dimples.
Oh, Lord.
“The ocean still hasn’t grown on you, huh?”
She swallowed hard. “It’s growing.”
—
The morning passed and the six of them fell into an easy rhythm, building sand castles and digging holes. Easy conversation was interspersed with long comfortable silences. Abby relaxed in her chair as the dull roar of the sea played as a backdrop for little-kid voices alongside Matt’s deep one.
She admired the way he moved with efficiency, every motion organized and purposeful. He worked on his knees like a kid, but nothing about him looked innocent. Muscled arms and shoulders flexed as he leaned on one hand and dug with the other. She counted three scars on his back and shoulder and wondered where he’d been, what he did.
She was surprised she could even feel such an intense physical attraction to a man, but Matt’s lethal good looks and innate sweetness was an irresistible combination. But that other thing she felt, the tingling when he touched her or the flutter when he looked at her—that was dangerous.
The kids gathered shells to decorate their castle, and Matt finally took a break, relaxing in the sand, hands behind his head. Charlie propped himself up against Matt’s bent legs and covered his giant feet with crushed shells. If he was asleep, it was short-lived as he was assaulted with thirty pounds of cuteness diving onto his chest.
“Matt! Eat wunch wif me!”
Gracie squealed when he lifted her into the air and sat up.
“Eat wunch with you?”
He raised one eyebrow as if to gauge Abby’s reaction to the invitation.
“I thought we’d eat at the pool. Less sand,” she said.
Matt stood and flew Gracie down and onto her feet. “Well, that’s an invitation I can’t turn down.”
—
The faint sound of Jimmy Buffett drifted from the speakers around the bar and grew louder as they neared the pool area. A jumble of round iron tables and chairs covered the patio shaded by tall palms rustling in the breeze. The Seaside Grille sat nestled against the main building, serving guests on the patio or poolside if they preferred.
“Hey, princess, why don’t you pick out a table for us,” Matt said.
Abby melted a little more at the effort he made to include Annie. They found a table and she unloaded, relieved to sit after the trek up from the beach in the heat of the day.
“What does everyone want?” Matt asked. After the kids reeled off their orders, he looked to her. “What about you?”
“Why don’t you go ahead, then I’ll get mine and the kids.”
He ignored her and repeated what he had so far, not easy since they’d all changed their minds three times.
“What do you want?” he asked her again.
“You’re not buying our lunch.”
“I am.”
She reached into her bag for her wallet.
“Abby,” he said with an impatient sigh, then covered it with a smile. “I’m not taking your money. Now, tell me what you want or I’ll surprise you.” When she didn’t immediately answer, he turned to the kids.
“Who knows what Mommy wants for lunch?”
Gracie knelt in her chair, belly against the table, arms outstretched, trying to reach Charlie across from her. “Mommy wikes a chicken sandwich, fwies, and soda.”
Traitor.
“Thank you very much.” Matt smiled, looking pleased with himself. “Be right back.”
Mr. Take Charge returned with a tray full of food. The fries were salty and the Coke was that perfect fountain-machine soda with plenty of fizz. Twenty minutes later the frenzy slowed, the kids doing more playing than eating, but Abby was too tired to move. A beep sounded from Matt’s pocket. He pulled out his phone, checked the screen, and laughed.
“Purple People Eater,” he said, showing her a texted photo. “Best bike there ever was.”
A smiling boy about Jack’s age sat on a very old and very purple bicycle with wide handlebars and a banana seat patched with silver duct tape.
“That’s my nephew Alex.”
“I want to see.” Jack scooted closer to Matt as Gracie moved into Abby’s lap.
Matt handed the phone to Jack. “My brothers and I covered a lot of ground on that bike.”