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“Catch me, Daddy!” she shrieks, swimming off again.
After a while, Brooke swims up to me, her eyes drooping. “I’m tired now, Daddy. And I’m hungry.”
I chuckle, hoisting her up onto the ladder. “Alright, sport. Let’s get back on the yacht.”
Once we’re back on deck, Cari’s waiting with a towel, drying off Brooke. As I climb up the ladder, I catch her giving me a quick glance, and I swear her cheeks flush pink. Feeling a surge of confidence, I puff out my chest a little, rubbing the towel over my skin with more flair than necessary. Why the hell are you posing, idiot?
But Cari turns away, focusing all her attention on Brooke. She’s taking her sweet time drying her off. “No point getting her bone dry. We’re stopping again soon,” I tell her.
Cari doesn’t respond, but I feel it once more, the quiet, invisible thrum of something between us. I tap her shoulder gently. “We’re having lunch. That alright with you?”
She startles slightly at my touch. “Yes, sure.” She seems wary, and I wonder what’s going on. She didn’t want to swim, and I didn’t push her. Her movements are jittery, almost like she needs something to do with her hands. Is it my imagination, or is she a little too jumpy around me today? Maybe it’s the first time she’s seen me shirtless. Hell, maybe it’s the first time I’ve seen her this way—in swimwear, on a yacht, out of the office.
She could be hungry, so it’s a good thing we’re stopping for a bite to eat. I bend down to Brooke. “How hungry are you?”
“I could eat a horse!” she exclaims, her face lighting up.
“I don’t have a horse for you, sport, but how about hot dogs?”
“Hot dogs? Where, Daddy?”
I point toward the stretch of sand ahead. “Right over there. See the tent?”
Brooke squints, then her face lights up. “Hot dogs!” she cheers.
Cari glances over, shading her eyes with her hand. “Are those … people?” She looks at me, confused and curious. But there’s a hint of a smile on her face.
CARI
We could’ve brought a simple picnic hamper, but no, Jett Knight has to take it a step further. He sent two of his kitchen staff ahead on a speedboat to cook for us. Of course, he did.
It’s sweet, the effort he’s making for Brooke, to make each moment memorable. I give him the side eye and my insides turn mushy. He is a good dad, and Brooke is lucky to have him.
By the time we reach the shore, there’s a tent set up. The smell of grilled hot dogs, shrimp, and fish floats toward me, making my stomach growl.
“This is … over the top … but amazing,” I say.
Jett’s eyes search mine. “Not too much?” he asks, like he’s seeking my approval.
“You did well,” I whisper to him.
He smiles.
“Hot dogs!” Brooke squeals, running ahead. “Thanks, Daddy!”
We could’ve managed with a hamper, but this is his world—one where everything is excessive and exaggerated, and I’m learning to sit back and enjoy it. “It’s lovely,” I say, watching Brooke race toward the familiar kitchen staff. They all know her by name.
There’s even a small table set for three. It’s elegant, yet simple, a far cry from what I’m used to. But that’s the thing with Jett. He knows how to make moments special, especially for Brooke. It’s touching to see this side of him, the softer, more thoughtful side. So different from the man I work for. This version of him is calm, kind, and careful. This is the side of him that came out when my world collapsed.
“This really is amazing, Jett,” I repeat, genuinely in awe of the day he’s crafted.
We eat quickly, silently, enjoying the food and the moment. The food is delicious, the setting picturesque. It’s been a perfect day. One I’ll remember for a long time.
And then there’s him. I can’t stop thinking about him in those swim shorts, especially when he climbed back on deck earlier and crouched beside Brooke, smoothing sunscreen on her back.
Earlier Brooke reminded me to do Daddy’s back.
So I had to.