Page 19 of Tides Of Your Love (Riviera Shores #3)

“Fits you perfectly,” Owen told Chloe, then gave the ball a tiny tap toward her. She returned it to him, and he passed it softly to Emma.

“I want too!” Emma piped up, picking up her jersey from the floor, where it lay beside her new doll.

I helped her put it on, and soon, the three Westbridge FC Wheatons had formed a triangle, passing the ball .

“Yay, Emma!” and, “That’s how you do it, Chloe!” Owen cheered, making the girls beam.

I snapped a picture for Simon and Nicole—and maybe for myself, too—then checked a message from Ruby.

“Either you’re not getting out of bed because of a famous footballer or too ashamed to tell me you’re not.”

Before I could reply, I felt a soft nudge on my foot.

I looked up.

Emma was pivoting toward me, chubby arms swaying. Chloe gave me a C’mon already look. And Owen—half-smirking, half-challenging—was waiting.

I shoved my phone into my back pocket, pretended to prepare for a massive kick, then slowed at the last minute and gave the sponge-like, colorful ball the gentlest push. It rolled and stopped chiming right at Owen’s foot.

“That’s all you got?” His smirk widened.

“I’m taking pity on your knee.” I cocked my head.

“Show her how it’s done, girls.”

Chloe caught the ball and kicked it hard toward me, forcing me to skip back so I wouldn’t miss it.

Emma chirped with joy.

I kicked the ball to her, and bless her little heart, she scooped it up into her hands and brought it back to me. “You have to kick hawd,” she instructed.

“Thank you, baby. I will.”

I gave it all I had, flinging it toward Owen. He caught it with his healthy knee, and knee-kicked it back to me hard.

I returned another firm shot—as firm as a baby’s toy could be—and this time, he absorbed it with his chest before sending it flying back off his pecs .

Almost too caught up in the sight of it, I barely managed to kick it again, this time toward Chloe.

She intercepted it like a pro, and just like that, it was game on.

With a tray of lemonade and snacks for the tired players, I went back to the living room, finding the two girls nestled on either side of Owen.

He was slouched on the sofa, his long legs crammed in the small space between the couch and the coffee table, sitting so low the girls practically rested their heads on his shoulders.

“And that’s you with ... I always forget his name,” Chloe said, squinting at Owen’s screen.

“That’s Kylian Mbappé—French team captain, plays for Real Madrid now, one of the best in the world.”

“Pretty,” Emma pointed at the screen, causing Owen to scroll back to whatever had caught her attention.

“That’s your girlfriend?” Chloe asked, tilting her head to look up at him.

“No. No.” Owen swiped to another photo. “This is when Jude Bellingham came to the national team training.”

“He signed my shirt, too!” Chloe said.

“He did.”

“Did you know that here we say ‘practice’, not ‘training’?”

Owen ruffled Chloe’s hair. “Yeah, I know, little one.”

Perfect timing to interrupt. I set the tray on the table, and a few minutes later the locusts had devoured almost everything.

“Time to change and brush your teeth,” I said, losing points with the girls, if to judge by their disappointed glances.

I followed them upstairs, leaving Owen to his phone.

“A little more fun and then you two are going to bed. No arguments, okay?”

After securing their unenthusiastic verbal contract, we went back down to join Owen.

Emma grabbed her new doll and crawled into her little circus tent. “Owen, come see.”

Owen tried, but after a couple of awkward movements, he ended up sitting on his ass, knees bent to his chin, his frame filling what little space was left inside.

“Why don’t we build something we can all fit in?” he suggested when Chloe started whining that she wanted in, too.

“We can use the sofa pillows!” Chloe rushed to gather them, bringing me a stack of smaller decorative ones. “You won’t tell mom, right?”

I stroked her hair. “As long as we put it back together before she gets home, I won’t say a word.”

Owen freed himself from the tiny tent, and within minutes, we had a fort made of the sofa cushions—just big enough for the four of us to cram inside.

“We can play two truths and a lie,” Chloe suggested. “We played it in class, and no one knew mine.”

“What was your lie?” I asked.

“Everyone thought the lie was that a famous football star is my dad’s best friend.” She grinned, victorious .

“Oh, that’s probably because they were thinking about someone like Tom Brady.” Owen chuckled.

“How about something Emma can play, too, like I-Spy?” I suggested.

Four rounds later—which involved Emma spying the same object three times—she let out a loud yawn.

“Time for bed, little one. Come on, I’ll tuck you in,” I said, trying to maneuver out of the fort.

“No. Owen. And Bluey,” she pointed, squeezing the stuffed toy tight.

“Okay. You too, young lady,” I said, looking at Chloe.

“But it’s—”

“No, it’s not.” Anticipating her protest, I turned my phone screen to her, showing the time.

“But I didn’t even get to be on my phone!”

“Because you had more fun doing other things with actual people, and now it’s too late, sorry.”

With a dramatic sigh, Chloe ducked out of the fort first, followed by me, then Emma, and finally Owen.

He scooped Emma up effortlessly, and she wrapped her little arms around his neck, Bluey dangling from her hand. The sight of her tiny frame clinging to him, her face pressed against his shoulder, sent a strange ache curling in my chest.

“Can I just post the selfie of me and Owen?” Chloe asked.

I barely registered her voice, too caught up in watching Emma nestled in his arms.

An irrational urge swelled inside me—to disappear in his arms the same way.

“Okay,” I murmured. “But quickly. ”

Owen led the way, Emma snuggling into him as he carried her upstairs.

I followed behind, Chloe trudging next to me, still grumbling about her phone time but not putting up a real fight.

“You good, Chlo?” I nudged her gently with my elbow.

She huffed but nodded. “It was fun.” A pause. “He’s fun.”

I glanced at Owen, who was now negotiating with Emma over which bedtime story to read, his deep voice turning playful as he dramatically listed book titles. Emma giggled, burrowing closer into his chest as he sat down on her pink bed.

Yeah, he was fun. And dangerous. Because watching him like this—easy, natural, completely at home with my nieces—felt way too good.

Emma fell asleep almost immediately, but Chloe started telling me about this friend and that one. Remembering how verbal I used to get at bedtime as a tween, I let her talk.

When I came back downstairs, the fort was still standing—but now, it had only one occupant.