“Want me to get her?” Scarlet asks.
“Thanks, but it’s okay. Keep getting that beautiful golden glow one minute in the sun gives you.” Quinn makes a face and shakes her head. “It’s so unfair.”
Scarlet wiggles her hips and laughs. “I’ve always tanned easily. Which is a good thing. Lying out in a bikini in the front lawn of my Southside apartment was always risky.” She shudders and starts to get up. “I should check on Jackson, though. He’s watched at least one episode of PAW Patrol now, and it’s time to get his little butt back out in the sunshine.”
They go inside, leaving me alone to watch Logan, Owen, Dean, and Weston work on the patio. I spend a few minutes admiring them all before I get up as well. I’m hot just sitting here in the sun tanning, let alone doing physical labor. There’s always cold beer in the fridge at the Dawson’s, and the guys could really use one right now.
Mrs. Dawson and Dean’s wife, Kara, are in the kitchen, getting lunch ready for us all. Mrs. Dawson looks up from the stove when I come in, pulling my swimsuit cover-up over my head.
“That smells amazing,” I tell her, eyes going to the stove. Then I notice a dish on a tray next to the oven. “Are those pin-wheels?”
“Thanks, and they are!” Mrs. Dawson turns down the burner and steps away from the stove. There’s a large island behind her, custom built to fit all seven of the Dawsons around it.
“I volunteered to make them for the church luncheon this Sunday. I have no idea what’s in them.”
Mrs. Dawson smiles. “I’ll give you my recipe as long as you promise not to share it with Karen McAllister.”
I laugh. “Deal. And thank you.”
“I didn’t know you were so involved in the church.”
“I’m not really,” I say carefully. I don’t regularly attend church but went last week with Grandpa after he pestered me to join him over and over. And the only reason I volunteered to do anything with this stupid luncheon was in hopes that Natalie Briggs would like me more. Which sounds so stupid now that I’m thinking about it.
I guess I do want to fit in here…more than I’m willing to admit to myself.
“Well, it’ll be nice to see you there. Maybe you can convince a certain son of mine to come with you.” She raises her eyebrows, and I’m suddenly really interested in a hangnail I have on my pinky finger.
“So, it’s a hot day out there. I was going to get something for the boys to drink.”
“Good thinking.” Mrs. Dawson beams, and I go to the fridge, pulling out four bottles of beer and taking them back outside. Shirtless and sweaty, Logan and Owen look exactly the same. They carry themselves differently, and I don't think they even notice it. It’s the biggest thing that gives them away, even when they try to fool me. Plus, Owen has a small scar on his forehead that Logan doesn’t have. If you didn’t know to look for it, you wouldn’t see it at all.
“Anyone thirsty?” I ask, holding up the bottles of beer. Owen turns to Logan, no doubt about to make a smartass comment, but Logan elbows him hard in the ribs before he gets a chance to get a word out.
Logan takes his beer and motions for me to join him by the side of the pool. I grab my lemonade and stick my feet in. Logan takes a few gulps of his beer, hands it to me, and dives into the pool. I close my eyes and look away, trying to quell the longing in my heart.
“That’s much better.” He swims to the side of the pool and reaches for his beer. I extend my arm and hand him his beer. He chugs the rest, sets the empty bottle on the side of the pool, and goes underwater again. I lean back, thankful for the hot summer day. No one will question why I’m fanning myself right now.
Swallowing hard, I shut my eyes and think about the pinwheels I need to make for church this coming Sunday.
“Uncle Logan!” a little voice shouts. I open my eyes and sit up, watching Jackson run at full speed toward the pool. Scarlet is right behind him, reaching for his hand. He’s faster, and Jackson jumps into the pool. Logan swims forward and grabs him.
“I can swim now,” Jackson retorts, pushing Logan away. Logan laughs and lets his nephew go but stays close by just in case. I finish my lemonade and lie back, getting splashed by Jackson and Logan only a minute later. I jerk up, narrowing my eyes and pursing my lips.
“It’s on,” I warn them and dive in.* * *
I type a reply only to delete it. Biting my lip, I shift my eyes from my computer to Orange Cat, a cleverly named orange tabby, I know. He’s one of the three barn cats Grandpa has let inside. We also have Black Cat, who is—you guessed it—black. And Tabby, a grey tabby cat. Creativity is obviously not Grandpa’s strong point.