Give & Take (Redbeard Cove #2)

2. Lana

Chapter 2

Lana

I was having a good beach day. A clean house is my main source of sanity, but for once I threw our weekend chores out the window and got me and the girls out of the house. My friend Chris, who was supposed to meet us here, got held up. But I brought along a book by my favorite author I’ve been dying to try to find time to read, about a duke grappling with the difficulties of his ‘sinfully sized manhood’. I even felt brave enough to wear a bathing suit I haven’t put on since I had Aurora five years ago.

Then that guy had to completely ruin the mood.

Okay, to be fair, my ex, Mike, started it.

But it’s been a long time since a man looked at me like that. Let alone a stupidly hot guy in his twenties. For the past few years I’ve tried to adjust to slowly becoming invisible to men. I’ve gotten so good at it, I was sure he’d been messing with me at first.

I pull my wide-brimmed white beach hat lower over my head to try to angle some shade onto my book, also annoyed I forgot it when I went to get snacks. It’s huge and I like hiding under it.

It doesn’t work. And I still can’t get over what an ass that guy was, staring at me like that. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five or six. And so tall. Like, basketball-player tall. The kind of person I’d ask for help reaching the top shelf in the grocery store tall. He was in these ripped jeans and worn t-shirt like he’d just arrived at the beach. Both fit him like a glove, revealing little swaths of sun-kissed skin and a body not beefy but lean. And his face? Jesus. Dark hair flopping over his forehead. Eyes the shade of whiskey with thick, dark lashes. A cocky grin that made my stomach flutter, as much as I hated it.

But that’s not the point. The point is he’s practically a kid. I’m forty, for God’s sake. Forty-one at the end of the summer.

I set down the book I’m failing to read with a little huff into the sand. The worst part of that whole little expedition is that I’m mostly angry at myself. Because I’d be a liar if I said some small, tiny, minuscule microscopic part of me didn’t like being looked at like that. Talked to like that.

Like I’m more than just an overworked, stressed-out single mom.

It’s been years since a man looked at me at all. I honestly thought it was all over. My experience has been once I hit thirty-eight or so, suddenly it was like I’d mostly turned invisible to men. It’s been a relief, mostly. Not relying on the male gaze .

But I wasn’t invisible to him. And it sent something wholly unfamiliar and unwanted through me.

No.

I pick up my book again, and manage to read a few pages before the heat—irritation and embarrassment—come rushing back. I reach for my phone.

LANA: You got the absolute last good one Shelby, I STG.

When I get no response a minute later, I feel like an idiot for sending it. I don’t need to talk about this. I’m just desperate to get this weird energy out of my body.

My friend Shelby’s probably at her prenatal swim class or something. Maybe having amazing pregnancy sex with Mac.

I wrinkle my nose.

Shelby’s husband is my boss at the Rusty Dinghy. I knew him long before I met Shelby, and he’s like a brother to me. His name and sex should never be in the same sentence.

My phone buzzes.

SHELBY: LOL. The ex again?

I should leave it at that. “Yes” would be easy enough. Mike absolutely was my biggest pain in the ass an hour ago.

But I haven’t thought about him once since Mr. Tall and Charming.

LANA: Actually, it was this cocky kid at the concession stand.

Kid doesn’t feel right. But he was, compared to me. I hit send.

Then I groan. I’m not a public person. I don’t gush or gossip the way my friends do, though I’m absolutely here for it when they need to. I’m just private. I’ve always felt more comfortable that way.

But some part of me clearly wants to talk about this. The same part that can’t stop thinking about how that whiskey gaze felt somehow older than the rest of him.

“Mom!” Aurora calls, thankfully interrupting my traitorous and clearly sex-starved brain.

I follow her worried gaze. Nova, my oldest at eight, has sent their beach ball into the water. She’s grinning in a way I know means she did it on purpose. Her little sister can’t swim.

“Nova!” I hold up two fingers.

I bent the first of three fingers down fifteen minutes ago when Nova drank half her sister’s milkshake when Aurora and I came back from finding crabs down by the rocky end of the beach.

“She wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t said anything!” Nova pouted, nearly earning herself another finger down for pure sassiness.

She was right, Aurora as usual was too preoccupied with soaking up the beauty of the whole wide world to notice a whole milkshake.

“That’s not the point,” I told her.

My eldest is too clever for her own good. And her sass— I have to remember to call her out on it when half the time I want to write it down to use it myself. Mostly on bad customers. Or Mike.

Nova scowls but stalks into the water. She picks up the big inflatable ball like it’s a huge burden for her. Then she hurls it at her little sister.

I sigh, maintaining my strength. But it’s not something that can do damage so I let it go for the moment.

I return to my phone, explaining what happened at the concession.

SHELBY: Ugh. I’m sorry. I mean he was clearly obsessed with you because you’re gorgeous and smart. And likely told him exactly where to shove it.

LANA: That last part is true. But I’m under slept and beyond stressed about this nanny situation. And now Mike wants to take the girls to this overnight party when they’re at his place next month.

LANA: Sorry, I’m ranting.

My ex is a lawyer in the film industry in Vancouver. I remember exactly what went on at those parties.

“Mom! She did it again!” Aurora yells.

I lower my phone. The ball is in the water once more, only this time it’s floated twenty feet down the beach.

“Oh for God’s sake.” I stand up, ready to tell Nova she can kiss her screen time goodbye later. But when I take in her face, I see genuine regret.

I know my daughters well enough to know when they’re telling the truth .

My shoulders soften. I’m still annoyed by how rotten my eight-year-old has been lately—especially when I know she’s so sweet on the inside—but her face is now panicky. “I didn’t mean to, Mom!”

“Can you get it?”

Nova nods. I give her a go-ahead gesture and she springs into action.

I grab Aurora’s hand and we follow as Nova sprints down the beach, her little runner’s legs helping her close in on the ball surprisingly fast. I wince as she sprays sand onto some poor woman’s back on the way and apologize as we pass. It’s a beautiful young woman and she graciously waves and tells us it’s no problem.

I remember when I was that age. Not a care in the world except hanging out with friends and sunning the body I thought was so terribly imperfect.

“Is she gonna catch it?” Aurora asks, her red curls bouncing as she skips to keep up next to me. “Chris gave us that ball, she’s gonna be sad if we lose it.”

“Yes sweetheart. She’s fast. And Chris won’t mind at all.”

Chris is my coworker at the Dinghy. At twenty-eight, she’s twelve years my junior, but still one of my best friends, though our relationship definitely leans to big/little sister. Without the bickering. She’s also the definition of chill and won’t care in the least about a dollar store beach ball.

Nova splashes into the water, jumping on the ball like she’s wrestling an alligator.

Aurora shrieks her excitement, letting go of my hand to jump up and down. Despite Nova’s antagonizing, our sweet little Aurora thinks her big sister hung the moon.

My phone buzzes. It’s another text from Shelby about my ex, in all caps.

LANA: Sorry, at the beach. Kids wreaking havoc.

SHELBY: What? Where? We’re at the beach too!

I look around. The beach is long, but not that long. We’re in the more crowded area away from the brush and rocks now. I hold my hand over my eyes, looking for Shelby. She’s hard to miss at seven months pregnant.

“Mom!” Aurora cries, a look of panic on her little face. Her hands are on her cheeks Home Alone style.

I look over just in time to see Nova sprinting in an arc toward the ball, which is positioned all on its own in the sand, awaiting its fate.

Nova plays soccer during the school year. She has an excellent kick. A little too excellent.

“Nova!” I cry out.

I’m too late. Her bare foot connects with the ball in a loud pock sound. It flies hard in the direction of the most crowded section of sunbathers, because of course.

“Watch out!” I call, forgetting in the moment I’m supposed to say something like “Heads up!” But I’m not a sports person.

And of course, the ball smacks some poor guy right in the side of the head, making—hand to God—a comical boing! noise .

The guy’s so surprised he drops his paperback.

“Oh my God.” Even though Aurora’s five, she’s small, so I swing her onto my hip for speed as I move fast in their direction, my feet slipping in the sand. You never know how some people will react to kids being kids. Albeit naughty kids who know exactly what kind of havoc they’re going to wreak.

“I’m sorry,” I call, even though I’m too far away for him to hear me. “I?—”

The guy stands up. He’s wearing a ball cap, so I can’t see his face. But Nova stands in front of him, looking a little scared.

My stomach plunges. If this guy tries to reprimand my kid I’m going to lose it. The other day an old man on the ferry yelled at Aurora for daring to sing quietly in the seat next to him and I told him I hoped his egg salad sandwich gave him e-coli and salmonella. Not my finest moment.

“Now you’ve done it,” the guy says loudly.

My stomach twists from worry into anger. Several nearby heads turn and happy conversations turn to murmuring.

“Hey,” I call, still too far away to be noticed.

“You,” the guy says, picking up the ball. He hasn’t heard me.

I open my mouth to yell, but he keeps going.

“Have awakened the BAD-THROWING TROLL!!”

I freeze.

Then the guy… roars.

It’s not a scary roar. It’s more like the sound someone would make if they were aggressively gargling mouthwash.

Aurora giggles next to me. It would be funny if I weren’t so stunned.

Through the crowd, I see Nova’s mouth fall open.

Several people are laughing.

The guy is a ham. He’s slightly obscured by the people now standing to watch in front of me. But over their heads I see him rear his arms back as if aiming the ball toward the crowd. But his arms go noodly, and he throws it hard in the complete opposite direction he was aiming. It loops through the air in a wobbly arc, landing with a bop on a sleeping man’s belly before rolling into the sand.

The man snores loudly and rubs a finger across his nose, but doesn’t wake up.

Aurora shrieks with laughter, wriggling out of my arms. Even Nova laughs.

I let out a breath. Thank God they hit a nice guy. A dad, probably.

“Do it again!” Aurora shouts, running up to him.

I follow with the intention of apologizing for Nova—with Nova, actually—and thanking him for understanding.

“Nova!” I call, turning to get her first.

“What?” she asks.

“You know what.” I reach for her hand.

“DO YOU DARE LAUGH AT THE BAD-THROWING TROLL?” The man yells at Aurora.

“YES!” Aurora shrieks.

Over my shoulder, I catch the man sprinting away from us with the agility of a linebacker, then throwing the ball directly into his own face.

Even I laugh at that.

That is, until I’ve got Nova’s hand and am heading his way.

He turns, jogging back to us.

And my stomach falls to my feet, my smile along with it. I take in the impossibly handsome face of the ogler from the concession stand. His gold-brown eyes are shaded by the brim of a ballcap he wasn’t wearing before, tanned chest and long legs no longer sporting a faded t-shirt and jean combo.

The guy has the audacity to grin. The even bigger audacity to reveal twin divots in his cheeks.

He has fucking dimples.

“Well hell,” the guy says, walking my way. “If this isn’t the best beach day ever!”