Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“True. Today I’m staying dry.” He wagged his fork at her.
“Good plan. If you help with crafts, you can be in charge of board games this afternoon if the rain keeps up.”
“Excellent. I’ve got a new dice one I’m dying to play. Does being in charge mean I can say no betting?”
“Your brothers just like having fun.” She made a dismissive gesture. “You know that. It’s not serious.”
“Winning is always serious business in this family.” Frowning, he leaned forward.
“Nothing wrong with that.” Her smile never wavered.
“I don’t know. Tying can be awfully fun.” I shot Arthur a pointed look, memory of last night still fresh. Holding hands and dashing through the moonlight had been far sweeter than any victory.
“You two truly are perfect for each other.” Her voice was light, but the words hit me like a dart because she was right. We were perfect, and that sucked because perfection was so damn rare.
“Yep,” Arthur agreed and again my chest pinched hard. “Bring on the crafts. At least those aren’t competitive.”
He was wrong, though. The twins and Taylor staged a game of building Popsicle stick towers, with frequent shouts of “Winner!” and “Loser! You suck at stacking.”
“Language,” Stacey said mildly, not looking up from the collage she was making with her younger kid.
I, being the least artsy person in the world, put myself on cleanup duty, mopping up spilled glue and collecting paper trash. Meanwhile, Arthur was rolling modeling clay with the same girls he’d been teaching dance steps to the night before.
“What are you making?” I asked, resting my arms on the back of his chair. The girls were constructing some sort of colorful blobs, but Arthur’s efforts seemed a bit more deliberate.
“We’re doing our dream homes.” Tilting back, he smiled up at me, making me want to kiss him. I settled for ruffling his hair.
“Tell me about yours,” I urged, surprised at how much I wanted to know.
“This is the main part of the house.” He gestured at a square he’d built in cheerful blue clay. A vision of a little blue house floated through my brain. Somewhere quiet, with rooms that smelled like mint and tea, not the strange odors that seemed to permeate ships and barracks.
“I like it,” I said softly.
“And this is the bathroom with a big tub.” He winked at me and my cheeks heated.
“And there?” I pointed at a yellow rectangle, which rivaled the blue one for size.
“That’s the music studio.” His fond smile did something to my insides. Made them warm and gushy when I wasn’t a warm and gushy guy.
“It’s bigger than the rest of the house,” I teased even as I could picture it, a large, sunny space with good acoustics.
“Yeah, well, I need room for all my ancient instruments.” He stretched, arms hitting me. I captured them, more to have him near for a second than to protect myself. Laughing, he quickly freed himself. “God, an actual office would be so nice. Dedicated composing space, no roommate drama.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. I could give him that. The thought was fanciful, as out of place as a doily on a submarine, but I couldn’t shake it. As a chief, I didn’t have to live in the barracks at all. I had plenty of options, but no real incentive to explore any of them.
You could. I didn’t like that thought either. I didn’t want to want these things, didn’t want to feel their absence on such a visceral level. I was happy with my life how it was. I didn’t need a house. But then I looked down at Arthur’s sculpture again, and oh, how I wanted.
“It’s not happening any time soon.” He whacked the clay, and just like that the dream collapsed, smushed by his hand until the pretty blue house was now a bird, one that he used to make the girls and me laugh by flying it around. “What should I make next?”
“Do a boat,” one of the girls requested.
“Here, I’ll do Derrick’s boat.” A few turns of his long fingers later and he had a reasonable approximation of a sub. “Glug. Glug. See it sail?”
“Subs don’t sail.” The older girl had an arch look for him.
“Okay.” Cheerful as ever, he kept moving his creation around. “It’s swimming the ocean blue. Seeing sea creatures and exploring.”
“Ha. If only that was our mission.” I laughed, but something twanged deep in my chest, a memory maybe of my younger self, of what I’d thought this life might be like, and the reality of what it was. And it wasn’t a bad reality at all, but it also wasn’t the stuff of Arthur’s daydreams either. And that made me sad for reasons I couldn’t afford to think about right then.
“The sun’s out!” The other girl cheered, quickly joined by the voices of other excited kids.