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“Cool,” Ollie says as he pulls out a chair for himself. “Can we invite Skylar?”
“I wanna be the one who clubs the fish when we catch it. I need to hit something,” she grumbles as she approaches the table—a monster drawn out of her lair by the smell of food. “You scare me” is all I say, plating the food and setting it in front of them.
“Please?” Ollie asks quietly, and I try not to double take. The kid who never talks to someone new is out here showing off with one-word sentences. I don’t miss the way Skylar’s body softens as she watches him. He keeps his eyes trained on the ground and kicks at a rock as he adds a mumbled, “I got you a license and everything.”
I ignore Emmy. “Yeah, fishing, hunting…bear petting. All licensed activities.”
morning’s loss. They’re both already heading down to the water when Skylar asks, “Is there room on the canoe for all of us?” “We can—” “If there’s not, you can always sit on my dad’s lap,” Emmy cuts me off, shouting back. All traces of pink on Skylar’s skin blaze red now. I doubt I’m any better. I feel like a fucking kid blushing over his crush.
“I know it’s one of your favorite pastimes, but quit staring at my ass, fancy face. Put your bitchy bird away. Let’s go.” “Are you flirting with me?” Her voice is all music and amusement. I grin at the water and don’t turn back when I say, “Absolutely.”
Her mouth pops open, and I watch my shy son grin up at her.
Skylar presses her lips together and gives me a scolding look. As though the kids are going to magically guess that she and I did, in fact, tip it while dry humping the hell out of each other.
Skylar’s expression is full of endearment. “Never change, Emmy,” she says, looking my daughter in the eyes. “Never, not for anyone.”
Watching them together makes my heart pump faster, my chest puff up with pride. With longing.
Two sets of blue eyes that match my own stare at me from across the table. I don’t know why I feel like I’m in trouble, but I do.
“You knew about Auntie Rosie’s mouse?” Emmy freezes, turning big baby blues up at me. “Oh no. I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.” Skylar tries and fails to bite down on a giggle.
My son turns to look at her. “You’re not intruding. We like having you here.” She blinks down at him, a sheen in her eyes. “You should just stay.
watch them across the table, both wedged in beside her like they want to be close to her too. Like they’re just as inexplicably attached as I am. It’s new and foreign and…right. That’s why I stare straight into her amber irises and say, “Stay.”
But the headline sitting in my inbox really turned my day around. It read: BREAKING NEWS: Sources say Skylar Stone lives in fear of being attacked by lake trout.
And the kids had laughed so hard that it was worth coming across as the ultimate city girl. The memory will always make me smile. It’s one I’ll cherish forever.
“These are from well-respected songwriters.” She rolls her eyes from beneath her heavy, black bangs. “Well, they don’t have my respect.”
Cora sighs down at the discarded pages. “What you need are fuck you songs. Songs that hurt. No more Auto-Tune. Your voice is sweet enough already. You could tell someone to go die, and they’d say thank you.” “Cora.” Ford groans and drops his head into his hands. I laugh. “No, it’s okay. I get what she’s saying.
Cora’s fucking cool—and judging by the way Ford is smirking at her, he must think so too.
I’m not going to force you to do anything you’re not on board with.” That sentiment strikes a heavy blow. No producer has ever said that to me before.
“This is my favorite gift I’ve ever received,” I tell him, my voice thick. His chin drops and he smiles shyly into his lap.
“I love reading and writing. Feels a bit like talking to someone.” I blink a few times, mulling over the greater meaning of what he’s just told me. This boy of few words who happily offers me his. “Talking to people is hard sometimes. Scary. You know?” I hum and dip my chin in recognition. “I know.” “I worry about what to say. And how people will take it.” “Highly relatable.” I see a soft smile touch his lips. “But when I write, I can say whatever I want. And it doesn’t really matter what people think of it.”
“That’s very wise, Ollie.”
sniff and gently press against him. He’s killing me. His sugary, little voice, speaking with such brave honesty. “I love talking to you. No matter what you say, I will always listen.” “I love talking to you too, Skylar.”
The only place more dangerous for us is, apparently, a canoe.
“I didn’t want to embarrass you at dinner.” That makes me smile. She may be wild, but she is thoughtful. Just like her dad.
I try so hard not to stare, but he usually catches me and tosses me a wink. Followed by a knowing smirk.
“You and Ollie both getting me gifts? What have I done to deserve this?” She glances around the room before oh-so-casually dropping, “We like you. And you make our dad happy.”
“I think your dad is just a happy kind of guy.” She shrugs. “Yeah. But he’s happier with you here.
“Skylar, that’s quitter talk. Plus, my dad would be really sad if his favorite singer died.”
Skylar, who slept down the hall from me last night, with my daughter starfished beside her—or kind of on top.
I had the crazy idea that I’d check on her, only to find her passed out with my kid. A sight that made my heart skip a few beats.
I catch her staring at me sometimes. She blushes every time I do, but then she focuses so hard on the notepad in her lap that I get free rein to stare at her openly.
She’s always looked good to me.
When I exchanged them with Mia at soccer last weekend, she poked me and said, “You fucking one-upper. All they talked about this week was Skylar Stone. I’ll never be the cool parent at this rate.” “Boring Brandon isn’t hard to beat,” I responded, and that time, she punched me. “You never change,” she said before walking away, laughing.
But the true distraction comes when Skylar turns around, making me see double. Because tucked into that thick elastic waistband is my shirt. My Skylar Stone shirt. And just above the image of her is the real her. Smirking at me.
After days of making Skylar blush, she has flipped the switch on me because I am positive I’ve turned the brightest shade of red. “Good morning, Weston,” Skylar says smoothly, quirking an eyebrow at me. “Do you like my shirt?”
“It looks better on you than it does on me.” Now I’m not the only one blushing.
And when she turns to walk away, I have to focus on not reaching for her. Her hip. Her waist. Her ass.
“What I really want to tell you is that I’m a fan of you in my shirt,”
“I’m a fan of you in my house.”
“Breathing is overrated. I’d rather be drowning in you.”
She tastes like pancakes. Syrup and chocolate chips. And mine.
Wild eyes latched onto me.
fan of you looking like this too.”
BREAKING NEWS: Skylar Stone’s number-one fan has been unmasked by tiny traitors.
Being annoyed with West when he continues to send me adorable emails is almost impossible. And being irritated at him for volunteering to raise money for the food bank is beneath me.
I’d rather be drowning in you.
But for the first time in my life, I’ve let go of worrying about how my feelings make me appear to other people. For the first time in my life, I feel childish and irrational and…like I have something to say. So I sit down on a log, and I write.
new favorite red lipstick. Because it’s so ‘in’ this season and all.
