“True or false,” Kat says. “A shark has no eyelids.”
“What?” Jazz, always the most expressive, gives Kat innocent attitude. “That’s creepy.”
“True,” Violet says.
“False,” Poppy says, turning to Violet. “I think I saw it happen on one of those nature shows.”
“It’s false,” Kat says. “They do have eyelids. They just don’t blink like us. They use their eyelids to protect their eyes from things in the water.”
“Ew,” Jazz says again, dropping her head back and yelling at the ceiling.
I grin at Kat. “Doesn’t look like she’ll be following in your footsteps either.”
That makes Kat laugh. A light, happy laugh that fills me up and makes me feel whole.
There’s no doubt about it, I’m head over heels. I want to deny it, but I can’t. Not to myself, at least. Part of me wishes it wasn’t true, because I’ve got a bad feeling about how this is going to turn out in the long run. She’s a free spirit. Has never tried to deny it or claim otherwise. She’s been nothing but up front with me, and while I do believe she cares about me, our feelings aren’t equal, putting me—and the girls—in a dangerous position.
“Oh, wow.” Violet’s reverent awe turns Kat’s gaze forward as the marina comes into view. “It’s so big. Like, triple the size of the one at home.”
Violet grips the back of my seat and leans forward to get a better look out the window. “Those boats are huge. Are those the kind of boats you worked on, Kat?”
“I have worked on those kinds of boats, but the job I had that you and I talked about was on a different kind of ship.”
“Even bigger,” I tell Violet, whose mouth is hanging open as I pull into a parking spot.
I take in the marina, and all I see is gray clouds, white boats, and wealth. The flags whap in the wind, and metal hits metal somewhere in the distance. It’s fairly busy, with people walking the docks and working on boats. All men. And I’m reminded of just how many men Kat will associate with on any given day out in the wilds of life.
The girls are already clamoring to get out from the SUV. Kat unbuckles Jazz from the car seat, and my daughter hits the ground running. By the time I pull in a breath to yell, Kat has Jazz’s arm and makes a game of catching her and swinging her to a seat in her arms. No one just meeting Kat would ever suspect she’d never had kids of her own. I’m starting to think the woman is a natural at everything.
“You little monkey,” Kat says, tickling Jazz’s belly as they round the hood to meet us on the other side. “You’ve got to stay close to your dad and me, okay?” Once we’re standing together, she looks at Violet and Poppy. “Think of every boat as someone’s house and the dock as a street. Every boat is privately owned, so we can’t go on them unless we have permission.”
I feel like I did the first time I stepped into a hospital as a medical student—exhilarated and overwhelmed and sure as shit that I was in the wrong place.
“Let’s head to the office.” She sets Jazz down and holds her hand as she follows a sidewalk toward a building. “They’ll know where we can find—”
“Mami!”
We all turn toward the voice of a man, calling from the docks. He’s already jogging toward us, speaking a slur of Spanish that doesn’t sound quite like the Spanish I learned in school.
“Never mind,” Kat says with a laugh. “He found us first.”
“What language is that?” Violet asks.
“Puerto Rican Spanish.” Kat lets out a surprised laugh when the guy vaults a low fence instead of stopping to open the gate. “Oh, Jesus.”
He’s young, fit, dark, and on the uncustomary exuberant side. She’s still laughing, sidestepping to put Jazz at arm’s length, clearly prepping for what will be—at least on his end—an ecstatic reunion. “He can be a little crazy—”
My first instinct is to gather the girls close. Jaime doesn’t give me or the girls a first glance, just runs straight at Kat, his grin white and wild.
“Jaime, Jaime.” She’s laughing his name with one arm out, walking backward. “You crazy—”
She squeals as he wraps her in his arms, lifts her off the ground, and spins around with her. She’s hugging him back, her grin broad and sparkling, her laughter high and tinkling with joy.
I recognize bits and pieces of Jaime’s phrases—look at you, you’re beautiful—that kind of thing, but it’s his tone and their natural physical intimacy that tells me far more than his words.
My stomach sinks. My throat tightens. Fuck. I hate that my deepest fears hit a bull’s-eye.
Jaime finally eases Kat to the ground and brushes her hair back from her face with both hands. The familiarity between them is clearly romantic. There’s no fucking missing that billboard.
Kat puts a hand against his chest in a move that appears as if it’s designed to keep him from kissing her. ’Cause, yeah, I’m pretty damn sure that’s next on Jaime’s list.
My jaw is stone by the time she gestures toward us. “Jaime, these are the friends I told you about.”
He forces his gaze from Kat, and it seems to take him a minute to shift gears. But when he does, he showers the girls with the charm of a prince from their storybooks. Dropping to a crouch, he addresses each girl in Spanish, telling them how beautiful they are, how prettily they’re dressed. And even my daughters, who don’t understand a word he’s saying, are grinning at him like he’s a fucking sugar daddy.
It’s petty and childish for me to hate this guy already, right? He’s like a leech, dragging out every last sliver of insecurity I thought was long gone. That, I believe, is not about how I feel about myself, but all about how I feel about Kat.
“He’s telling you how beautiful you all are.” Kat’s smiling down at the girls.
“Does he speak English?” Poppy asks.
“Sí, yes, pretty girl, I do. But when I get excited, I lapse into my native tongue.”
“This is Violet,” Kat says, gesturing to each girl, “Poppy and Jazz.”
“Beautiful names for beautiful girls.” He’s beaming at them. Beaming. And it’s so damned authentic.
“And this is Ben.”
Jaime stands and meets my gaze directly, openly. His smile shifts to something more adult, but still holds the kind of warmth I find in the gazes of old friends. He offers his hand boldly, gladly. Overall, I get the same feeling from Jaime as I do a resident who’s been waiting to meet me.
“Doctor Ben.” I shake his hand, and he returns it with solid strength and continued eye contact. “I admire a man who can manage so many females in his life as successfully as you have.”
I laugh. It’s completely unexpected, and I’m maddened to find I like the guy. He’s equal parts lady’s man and man’s man. Swarthy, charming, and charismatic, but also direct, confident, and masculine. “Nice to meet you.”
He steps back and claps his hands together, scanning the girls’ excited faces. “Who’s ready to look at some boats?”
“Me!” the girls chorus together.