“Okay…I want chocolate ice cream with whipped cream and chocolate sauce and sprinkles.”
“On it.” On my way to the counter to place her order, I notice the indecision on her face. Poor baby looks utterly overwhelmed. “Pick out a few other things. Whatever you don’t eat now, we can always drop off in the room for later,” I say with a wink.
By the time her enormous sundae is prepared, Wyatt and Prissy are unloading arms full of cupcakes, brownies, and an M&M cookie as big as my head next to the register.
“What are you gonna have?” Prissy asks, apparently not willing to share her haul with her mother.
I shrug. “I’m still feeling a little queasy from the ride.”
“You have to eat.”
Knowing Wyatt won’t accept no for an answer, I grab a Rice Krispy treat to appease him and toss it up there with the rest of it. “There.”
When we sit to eat, Wyatt rattles his hands on the table, making a full-blown spectacle before whipping a number seven candle out of the pocket of his shorts. He takes the rainbow cupcake out of her hand just before she opens her mouth to bite it, and stuffs the candle into the center. “Happy birthday to you…” he starts after lighting the wick and setting it down in front of her. Every person in the establishment and even some passersby pop in to sing to my little girl, who looks like she might just explode with glee.
“Make a wish,” I say.
She looks at Wyatt and then to me, shamelessly waggling her little brows before blowing her candle out.
Wyatt rubs the toe of his shoe over my ankle beneath the table, making me aware that Prissy’s all too obvious hint didn’t go unnoticed by him either.
After we’ve eaten, we start packing up the rest of Prissy’s snacks, preparing to bring them to our room, when the lovely woman behind the counter pops by with an offer to hold them in the back, allowing us to go straight to the waterpark. We graciously take her up on that suggestion, eager to get this day started.
The place is huge, and the scent of chlorine is so strong my eyes and nose are burning before we’ve set foot in the water. We stroll right past the little kid area, because my child is seven going on seventeen and cannot be bothered to play with children her own age.
“Let’s go on that!” Excitedly she points to a huge yellow and red monstrosity. My stomach revolts at the thought.
“Why don’t we start out in the wave pool and work our way up?” I suggest, eying the safe haven across the room.
“’Fraid of heights?” Wyatt jeers, nudging me with an elbow.
“Duh!” Prissy offers before I can respond. “At the fairs, Paw has to go on all the scary stuff with me.”
“I’m not scared,” I lie. “I’m merely suggesting we allow a little time for our food to digest before riding something with tornado in its name…”
“Fine,” she concedes, taking off at a sprint, her stringy blonde hair bouncing behind her.
“Thank you for this,” I say to Wyatt as he links his fingers with mine. “It means more to her—to us—than you could ever know.”
“Of course.” He smiles down at me, setting off a swarm of fireflies in my tummy. “I love being with you guys.”
“Me too,” I say, because I’m an idiot. “With you, I mean. We love being with you.”
The soft rumble of laughter that follows heats my blood. “I know what you meant.”
The mood changes to something a little more PG when we meet up with my daughter at the set of lounge chairs she’s claimed. The girl has already removed her coverup and packed it away and has a pair of lopsided goggles affixed to her face.
I set my bag on the chair beside hers and slink out of my dress, nice and slow to give my man a little tease, knowing there’s not a damn thing he can do to act on it for a few days yet. His heated gaze as he ogles my red, ruffle-trimmed bikini tells me my efforts don’t go unnoticed.
“You are so wrong for that,” he rasps into my ear before reaching over his shoulder and gripping the back of his T-shirt with one hand. He has it over his head in one swift motion.
Saliva pools in my mouth. I don’t think I’ll ever get my fill of looking at him. His broad chest and tanned skin. The light ripple of definition dusted in a blonde happy trail that disappears beneath turquoise boardshorts.
“Are we gonna go in or are you two just gonna check out each other’s bathing suits all day?”
“Yeah,” I say, forcing my gaze away with a laugh. “Let’s go.”
The wave pool isn’t all that packed, probably because it’s still very early in the day. Not that I’m complaining. Prissy is having a blast swimming laps between wave sessions, and I’m not having any difficulty keeping her in my sight.
“She’s a fish,” I observe, still amazed by how fast she picked up on the skill.
Wyatt smiles tenderly, watching her with so much pride it momentarily steals my breath. He’s so easily slipping into a parental role with her—one I’m shocked that I’m not more reluctant to share. Their bond is effortless. I have to believe that if things ended up not working out between us, he’d remain a part of her life. I can’t allow my mind to think otherwise.
“Now we won’t have to worry about her drowning in the bayou.”
Comments like this one are why I’ll keep my fears and insecurities at bay and ride this train as far as it takes us. What man dates a woman for a few months and spends his time fretting over the safety of his home for her child? A damn good one.
“Y’all,” Prissy comes up, sputtering, swiping water from her face. “Look at that lady’s boobies.”
Wyatt’s eyes widen. Clearly, he hasn’t been privy to my child’s recent fixation with getting her boobs.
“What about ’em?” I ask, shoving her hand down. “You know better than to point at people.”
“I never saw some like that before.” With her palms rounded in front of her chest, she sways side to side as if she’s imagining them on her little body. “They’re really high. Almost in her chin!”
“Because they’re fake,” I whisper, this time shoving both of her hands down. “Stop doing that.”
But her mind only heard one portion of that conversation. “I know what I want for my birthday now.”
Wyatt’s choking on a laugh before she gets the words out. He knows as well as I do what ridiculousness is coming.
“Fake boobies.” She pokes out her chest doing a little shimmy.
I can’t with this child. “You can’t get fake ones til you’re grown. It’s a surgical implant…like a pacemaker,” I add when her brow crinkles. She loves to accompany my father to the crematory and watch him remove them before cremation. We have to, or they’ll explode.
“Fine,” she deflates. “My eighteenth birthday then.”
“We’ll see.”
“Ugh,” she growls. “That means no.”
I wink.
“What’s with the boob obsession?” Wyatt mutters close to my ear when the waves begin to roll in and my child’s focus shifts. “Just when I think she and I couldn’t have more in common,” he muses.