Page 14 of The Seashell of ’Ohana

“Aye, aye, Captain. Mom!” Tyler waved and slid down the super cool slide.

He splashed into the water, and I remained standing, waiting. He swiped water off his face and fixed his goggles when he resurfaced. I exhaled.

Even after years of swimming lessons, the mother instinct tugged at my core and told me to wait until he was safe. Call me paranoid, but recent news of kids drowning in their backyards had me even more on edge.

“Hello, Abby.” Bridget waved, her one-piece pink swimsuit sparkling like mermaid scales against the sunlight.

Seeing Bridget without anything related to unicorns, which used to be on almost everything she owned, made me long for those days. When Tyler had lost interest in his building blocks, it had been one of the saddest moments in my motherhood journey. The kids were growing up too fast.

Something caught my eye. No, not something. Someone. A tall, handsome, and tanned man, with six-pack abs and a whole lot of muscles, splashed out of the water and walked up the stairs. Water dripped from his hair and streamed down his chest. One rivulet snaked lower, and I yanked my gaze upward. He raked his hair back with both hands, flexing his toned biceps as his lips curled wickedly into a sexy smirk.

Shiver me timbers.

A drop of cold water slipped off my glass and over my knuckle. I needed more than that to cool me down, and I needed to stop staring. Maybe I needed CPR. He looked like a daydream, but he was real. And he … was Ian Bordonaro.

Ian made water footprints toward a pool chair, grabbed the towel slung over it, and dragged it over his hair, chest, and black swim trunks. Then he draped the towel around his neck and strutted toward me.

My heart pounded and my feet grew roots into the poolside concrete. His presence captured me, and those lips curled upward to let me know he was happy to see me—that grin nearly undid me.

“Abby. You’re here.” Ian wrapped his arms around my shoulders and planted a smooch just beside my lips.

That kiss ignited in my belly and warmed me down to my toes.

Despite his cool face brushing against my cheek and his wet body touching mine, my temperature spiked to blazing hot. And I might have forgotten how to breathe. My gaze tunneled into his gorgeous, brooding eyes. I wondered what secrets he held in them when he pulled away.

An artist never missed the smallest details, something that had been ingrained in me. Sometimes, I’d forget where I was and would study someone a bit longer than necessary. Like now.

“Hello, Ian.” I managed to get my tongue moving and offered an affable smile.

“It’s good to see you. Lee told me you were coming.” His gaze traveled to the glass in my hand.

“How have you been?” I didn’t know what else to say. It had been so long since I’d socialized with a man for any purpose other than a business transaction.

Not a dumb question. You’re doing just fine.

“I’ve been relaxing and taking some time off from work. And I see you’re drinking one of Lee’s famous cocktails. Sometimes he’s a little too generous with the rum, but don’t tell him I said that. Might hurt his pride.” He winked.

If I hadn’t been acting like a schoolgirl with a crush before, I was surely flushing after that wink. But Ian might be right. I could already feel the effects of the alcohol. My neck blazed. Or maybe it was from his gaze, roaming every inch of me.

I took another drink and craned my neck to the pool. My gaze landed on the perfect distraction of Bridget and Tyler with their arms over the floating noodles, staring up at Ian and me, smiling. Ian ruffled his hair with the towel, and it took every ounce of my will not to stare at him. He must lift weights and exercise every single day of the year to be that fit.

“Time to eat,” Kate called.

Thank God.

“I’ll see you at the table. I’m going to give Ty his towel,” I said when it seemed like he was waiting for me to take the first step.

“Then I’ll take your drink to the table for you,” he said.

I passed my glass to him and pulled the beach towel out of the duffel bag. After Tyler came out of the water, I wrapped a towel around him.

“Mom, I can do it.” He wiggled out of my hold and held out his hand for the towel.

I needed to keep in mind that he wasn’t five years old anymore, and he liked to do things for himself. But doting on him made me happy, and going the extra mile had given me something to focus on when grief had become too much. I trailed behind the kids to the dining table under an awning and eased onto the only empty chair beside Ian.

My piña colada sat next to a thick white paper plate and utensils. Napkins and water bottles were set in the center. Ian had put on a tank top, but kept his swim trunks on.

Kate had already prepared the kids’ plates, and they ate at a separate table, closer to the pool.