“Oh my God, they’re awake!” Violet’s eyes dart to the sun-filled window like a vampire who’s lost her coffin. “Should I shimmy down the gutter?”
“No,” I chuckle. “It’s too fucking early to shimmy down anything.”
I dig deep into the recesses of my dad experience—past, present, and future—to come up with a plan.
And it’s so simple it’s genius.
“We’re going to walk downstairs and act like everything is normal. If we don’t make a big deal about you spending the night, they won’t either.”
Vi does not see the wisdom of my plan.
“You want me to do the walk of shame in front of your children?”
“They’re boys, Violet. Men in training. Easily distracted, self-focused, not big on noticing details. Trust me—it’s going to be fine.”
We get dressed. Violet wears her sundress and sandals from last night, washes her face in my adjoining bathroom, and I find a new spare toothbrush in the vanity drawer for her to use.
And then we walk downstairs together—casually, nonchalantly—practically whistling.
All three of the boys are in the kitchen.
“Morning, guys,” I greet them. Then I pull out a chair for Vi at the kitchen table.
She sits down carefully. “Hi, boys.”
“Hey,” Spencer replies, shoveling a spoonful of Froot Loops into his mouth.
Brayden nods, not even looking at us, keeping his unbroken focus on his phone.
But Aaron . . . well, I may have underestimated the power of the teenage snark.
“Didn’t make it home last night, huh?” He immediately smirks.
And Violet looks like she wants to dissolve into the floor.
“You guys had a sleepover?” Spencer glances from Vi to me.
“Yeah.” I shrug. “We dozed off watching TV.”
He nods and goes back to his cereal.
Brayden doesn’t care enough to comment at all.
That’s my boy.
Aaron, I assume, files the information away to be used to his advantage at some later date.
“I’m going to make coffee.” I grab the pot and hold it under the faucet. “Violet, do you want a cup?”
“Yes, please,” she answers, looking slightly more normal and less mortified. “I should bring my French press over—it’ll change your coffee life.”
“Oooh, Franch,” Spencer says dramatically. “You’re fancy, Violet.”
Then he and Brayden kiss their fingers and start saying every French word they know.
“Ooh-la-la.”
“Oui, oui.”
“Bon appétit.”
“Grey Poupon.”
Violet laughs at them, then smiles up at me, relieved that we’ve survived relatively unscathed.
* * *
Since Violet and I both have the day off, we decide to ask the boys if they want to hit up Great Adventure—and we’re met with yeses all around. Even Aaron agrees to come, which is extra special since he typically avoids “family time” like it’s a death sentence.
We make a pit stop at Vi’s house—the boys skip pebbles on the lake while she changes her clothes—and then we’re on our way to the amusement park.
Violet sits in the passenger seat next to me with her window down, bathed in the late morning sunshine and looking pretty enough to eat. The warm breeze teases the tendrils that have escaped the thick bun on the top of her head. She’s wearing hot-pink sunglasses, a black Led Zeppelin tank top, and cute cutoff white shorts that are going to have my eyes glued to her ass all the livelong day.
About an hour after getting to the park, I discover something I didn’t know about Vi . . . something I’d never considered.
“Kingda Ka,” Brayden announces, gesturing to the mammoth ride like a game show host unveiling the grand prize. “The fastest roller coaster in the country and the tallest in the entire world.”
“The whole world, huh?” Violet gulps. “No Kingda kidding?”
“Nope. It’s totally righteous.”
Spencer extends his pinky and thumb on both hands in the surfer shaka sign and mimics Crush, the turtle from Finding Nemo—a film my kids have watched so many times it’s permanently branded on their brains. And mine.
“Righteous, righteous!”
Aaron joins in the movie quoting fun, giving Brayden a high five. “Let’s grab some shell, dude.”
Violet’s eyes grow bigger and more terrified the longer she stares up at the skyscraper-high roller coaster.
“You know, I think I’m gonna enjoy this one on the down low. Like, really low . . . over here,” she gestures to a small grassy knoll. “ . . . on the ground.”
I lift my sunglasses to the top of my head.
“You don’t want to go on?”
“Well, the thing is . . . I’ve never actually gone on a roller coaster before. Ever.”
I’ve watched Violet jump on a moving gurney to administer chest compressions to a patient. I’ve seen her tie a tourniquet over a pulsing wound spouting arterial blood like a frigging geyser. I’ve seen her block the exit door to a domestic abuser after his wife told the cops how she really sustained her injuries.
This skittishness and fear is a totally new look for her—and it’s pretty fucking adorable. It seems twisted and wrong to feel that way, but it’s still turning me on something fierce. Making me imagine pulling her trembling little body against me and kissing her mouth long and deep until her anxiety is a faded memory. Kissing her . . . lots of places.