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I believe in child labor for a few reasons. I’ve had the boys doing chores around the house since they turned three and could listen to instructions. Well, listening is debatable, but as soon as they could open the dryer door and toss clothes in, it was time to put them to work.

Here’s why I do it. Responsibility. I wanted them to be accountable, unlike their father, and by having them do a certain chore around the house, it’s teaching them work comes before play.

So with my chore-mentality in mind, Sunday morning I have the boys wash my minivan while I supervise, eh, drink coffee and hose it down because you can’t trust boys with water.

“You missed a spot,” I tell Cash, whose job is to wash the wheels.

He stands up straight, scowling at me in his board shorts and no shirt. “I did not.”

“Uh, yes you did.” I point to the black spots on the wheel. “Right there.”

Turning, he bends down and looks closer. “Mom, that’s where you’ve hit curbs.”

I kneel to examine them. Well shit, he’s right. I ruffle his hair. “Whoops, my bad.”

“Mybad,” he mocks, laughing like he’s gotten away with something.

God, he’s a shithead. Sometimes I wonder if Grady got all the niceness in the womb and Cash was, I don’t know. . . left without oxygen and in turn it made him mean?

I spray him with the hose. “Boy, what’d you say?”

He’s shocked. Naturally. I did just spray him with ice-cold water, and then his eyes snap to mine, and he grins, wickedly. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Guess who just wore an entire bucket of soap?

This girl.

While that starts a water fight, Grady comes to my defense, and it’s him and me against Cash until Ridge jogs by. Just you know, jogs by like it’s no big deal and I’m lying in the middle of my lawn. Wearing a white tank top.

You can guess the expression on my face, eh, horrified, but can you guess the expression on his?

Pure. Fucking. Amusement.

Instead of making a dirty comment, he points to my neighbor who’s glaring at him. “He still doesn’t like me, does he?”

I glance at Mr. Ferris next, who’s watering his plants while giving Ridge the stink eye. “You killed his dog.”

Ridge reaches out his hand, the boys looking at him like he’s their hero. “That was like ten years ago and he ran out in front of me.”

I take his hand and stand up, crossing my arms over my chest to hide the nips that are proudly on display. “Uh-huh.”

Ridge’s eyes lick my entire body from head to toe, slow and taunting, then land on my face. He leans in and whispers, “I maintain my innocence.”

“How’d you know we lived here?” Cash asks, smiling so wide at Ridge it makes my heart want to burst. Cash is smiling. I want to take a picture because it doesn’t happen often.

Ridge shrugs, pulling back, his posture straightening, so lean, so perfect. Fuck, he’s so pretty.

He reaches forward to ruffle Cash’s wet hair. “Lucky guess, bud.” When he notices his hand is now covered in water, he runs it down his thigh, and I silently hope his shorts come off with the motion.

They don’t. Sadly.

“We were washing Mom’s car,” Grady tells him, holding up a soapy wash mitt. The water rushes from him when he squeezes it, suds covering his feet.

Ridge laughs, and his amusement looks genuine. “I see that. Need help?”

“Yes!” they both yell.

“Are you stalking me?” I ask when he steps foot in the driveway near the back of the van, reaching for the hose in my hand. I saw Ridge last night, but I was kind of mean, hadn’t wanted to talk to him after that fight with Austin. So this little visit surprises me, and then again, it doesn’t. He’s goddamn determined, isn’t he?