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“I mean, he has to, right?” I agreed, watching the way he ducked his head down, actively listening to something Tasha was saying.

“Anyway, he grabbed her a towel and she hauled her gorgeous self out of the pool. It was like a movie—all that water cascading off, him standing there watching, then wrapping her up in that towel.”

“Then?”

“Then they talked all casual-like for a few minutes. She put on her cover-up because Carter could not keep his eyes on her face. And he strikes me as someone who has a lot of self-control.”

“How long have you been standing here watching?”

“Oh, only like thirty minutes. Forty-five, tops. I popped the kids in front of the tube when it looked like this was going to go on. There might also be candy involved. Mama needs to watch her show too,” Brooke said, waving down toward the pool.

“Does Tasha know you’re watching?”

“Does it look like she knows I’m watching?”

Below us, Carter’s hand rose, gently snagging Tasha’s chin and angling it up.

“Oooh, be still my heart,” Brooke said, patting her chest.

“Ooh ooh,” Lainey hooted.

I was going to go ahead and pretend that the way my stomach twisted was happiness for Tasha and not jealousy that it wasn’t me and Coast down there.

“Right?” Brooke asked, reaching to give Lainey’s arm a little shake. “Oh, this is it!”

Tasha’s head lifted.

Their gazes locked.

Carter started to lean down.

“Mom?”

“Damnit!” Brooke said. “Go back to bed, Benji!” she whisper-yelled to the kid a floor below who had no idea she was there.

At the sound of her son’s voice, Tasha yanked almost violently away from Carter.

Carter’s hand fell, curling into a fist. His whole posture then was one of defeat as Tasha rushed past him and back to her room.

Alone, Carter turned his head up to the sky, sucking in a deep breath, then exhaling it hard.

Then he turned and walked away.

“Dang it. That was getting good. I’m all a-flutter,” she said, sighing dreamily.

“You know what I think?” I asked, looking at Brooke.

“That the two of them need to get a babysitter and tour the Egyptian cotton sheets at his mansion? Me too.”

A little laugh escaped me at that.

“That you should write.”

“Honey, Idowrite,” she said, brows pinching.

“Yeah, ad copy. I mean you should write stories. That was such a vivid description of events. I could picture it all. Write some page-burning spicy romances. I’d buy them.”

“Girl, you know, I gobble those things right up. The library hates to see me coming.”