Annie looked up from her napkin origami. “How many brothers do you have?”
“Five.”
“Do you have sisters?” she asked.
“One sister.”
Annie studied him, then after a moment reached for a new napkin, and went back to her folding.
Matt took the phone back from Jack. “We played cops and robbers with our cousins from morning ’til—”
“What’s a cousin?” Gracie asked, easing ever closer to Matt.
“Well, my mom and dad both have a lot of brothers and sisters, and—”
“How many?” Jack interrupted.
“My dad has seven and my mom has eight. All my parents’ brothers and sisters are my aunts and uncles, and their kids are my cousins.”
Jack looked at her. “Do we have cousins, Mom?”
“No.”
“We don’t have a daddy either,” Gracie said, shaking her head.
Matt looked down. “I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”
Abby met his eyes over her daughter’s curls and got that warm feeling again, a little deeper this time.
“Who wants to see funny pictures?” Matt asked.
Gracie raised her hand. “Me!”
Charlie stood on his iron chair, double-fisting fries, and lunged over his brother. With quick reflexes, Matt caught Charlie under the arms and settled him in his lap as Gracie inched onto his other knee.
“Okay, let’s see what I’ve got,” Matt said, fiddling with his phone.
He flipped to a photo of six good-looking men.
“Who’s that?” Gracie asked.
“My brothers.”
They all had the same large build, same brown eyes, and similar smile, but even without his white jacket covered in ribbons and medals, she could have picked out Matt. His smile was different, a little lopsided, his eyes a bit more beautiful than the rest.
Then there was a picture of Matt kissing the young bride on her cheek. “Is that your—”
“Sister,” he told her, a smile playing at his lips. “Lizzy.”
The next picture was of Matt still in dress whites, holding a baby in fluffy pink.
“Who’s that?” Gracie sounded more than a tad jealous.
“That’s my niece.”
He was so close the hairs on his arm brushed hers and she felt his voice deep in her chest.
Next was an older, more recent Matt standing with four other men, all of them in camouflage and gear, sweaty and smiling. Matt gave no details, his expression gave away nothing, but he looked at it longer than all the rest.
She wondered again exactly what he did, what he’d seen, and she had the sudden urge to brush his hair back from his forehead, like she did to Jack and Charlie. An urge to hug him, even if he didn’t need it.
There were older pictures, going by the eighties clothing. One of two little boys in Superman underwear with capes tied around their necks. Matt named the people in every photo and told the surrounding stories until she felt like she knew him. So many memories, Abby thought, and someone on the other end of the camera who cared enough to capture them. His mom probably.
She’d had a school picture taken each year, though she didn’t have any to show her kids. There’d been no one to buy the package. Didn’t matter. She had her own family now and she took hundreds of pictures, always bought the whole package.
Jack pointed to four little boys in football helmets swallowing their heads. “I’m going to play football. Right, Mom?”
“Yes. You get to play—”
“I should practice.” He turned to Matt. “Can we practice?”
“Sure,” Matt answered.
Jack was already out of his seat. Matt slipped his phone into his pocket and rose with a sleepy Charlie in his arms. She moved to take him, but Charlie had other ideas. He wrapped his little arms tightly around Matt’s neck, completely content to rest his head on Matt’s wide shoulder.
Matt sent Abby a relaxed smile, as if holding a toddler in his arms was the most normal thing in the world. “Back to the beach?”
Gracie grabbed Matt’s free hand and tugged. “Come on. I have to show you somefin. It’s weally portant.”
Abby wanted to say no, not because she didn’t want to spend time with him but because she did. Too much.
But how could she say no to something weally portant? Especially when Matt looked at her daughter like he cared.
—
It turned out the somefin Gracie needed to show him on the beach hadn’t actually been found yet. She led him by the hand, her big brown eyes searching the sand.
“Matt, wook.”
“What am I looking at?”
“It’s a stick. See?”
Before he could even pretend amazement, she darted to a piece of driftwood no bigger than his hand, asking him what it was, where it came from, and why did it come from there.