Figures.
He was only checking me out because of my mom. A Day at the Lake was her very first movie. It didn’t do that well at the box office, but the poster of her blowing a kiss in a bikini sold millions of copies and made her a household name. Now the movie is sort of a cult classic.
“It’s okay,” I say without hiding my disappointment. Seriously, someday men are going to notice me and say, Damn, that’s Keatyn Douglas, not, Oh, it’s Abby Johnston’s daughter. “You seem a little overdressed.”
He smiles and points his thumb up the beach. “I was just touring a property up the way. It looks like I’ll be in good company when I buy.”
“Yeah, I guess. There are some famous people that live around here, but you might want to rethink your wardrobe,” I tease.
He looks down at his suit. “I am a little overdressed. So, your boyfriend looks like he knows his way around a surfboard.”
I start to say, He’s not my boyfriend, but he says to Brooklyn, “If I’m going to embrace the beach life, I need to learn how to surf. You ever give lessons?”
“I’ve taught a few people,” Brooklyn says, nodding toward me. “She was my first student.”
Vincent smiles at me. “You looked great out there too,” he says, but the way his eyes slide down my bikini, I’m not sure he’s referring to my surfing skills.
“So we’re gonna get back out there,” Brooklyn tells him. “I’m around pretty much all the time. So when you’re ready, just let me know.”
He grabs my hand and leads me over to our boards.
When we’re back out floating in the water, he says, “That guy seemed pretty cool.”
“The suit was a bit uptight looking, but did you notice he had a tattoo on his arm? He’s probably cool.”
“Yeah, maybe. Although, he was flirting with you even though he thought you were my girlfriend. That doesn’t say much for his character.”
“He was not flirting with me.”
Brooklyn laughs. “Yeah, he was. I told you, guys will be glad you’re single.”
I stare into his eyes. They look beautiful sparkling in the sun.
He smiles at me—causing his eyes to crinkle adorably around the edges—puts his hand on top of mine, and says, “I’m glad your broke up with him, Keats.”
I practically have a heart attack, drop dead over my board, and fall into the water as the words tumble out of his mouth.
For the first time ever, Brooklyn followed my script.
I start thinking about a script for tonight. About how he’ll dance with me. How, later, he’ll take me for a romantic midnight stroll on the beach. How he’ll pull me down into the sand and make mad, passionate love to me.
BwookLYN is my BOYfwend.
11:45am
I walk in the back door to total chaos. Two of the girls are finger painting. Gracie runs up to me. She’s only wearing a pair of princess panties, and her entire chest is covered with bright red paint. She looks like an extra from a war movie. She even has red paint oozing down her hair like she has a head wound.
“Kikiiiii!! KiKi!!!” Kiki is their adorable nickname for me. As in Key, Key. “Look, hands!” she screams, holds her red hands in the air, and then presses them into my stomach.
I now have blood red paint running down into my belly button.
I scoop her up and tickle her. She screams Kiki some more.
Avery, who is wearing a swimsuit and a tutu, holds up the paper she’s been cutting into teeny little pieces. The triplets have recently mastered cutting and think it is their mission in life to chop as much paper as possible into confetti and throw it around the house. The confetti has mixed with the paint to make some very special artwork.
And a freaking mess.
“Look! We cut very good!”
I lean down and kiss the top of her head. “Good job, Ave. You’re all getting so big!”
“Can we go make sandy castles?” Ivery asks, as she wipes purple paint down the front of her Bella dress-up gown. She holds her hands up and says, “All clean!”
The nanny grabs her. “You’re silly. Go wash your hands like a big girl.”
I pat the top of her head as she runs to the sink. “Not now, honey. I’m going shopping with Sander. How about tomorrow? I’ll see if Brooklyn can help us.” The girls adore Brooklyn.
“Piggy, piggy!” Gracie screams.
Apparently Brooklyn gives the best piggyback rides. I’d like him to give me a piggyback ride, but I don’t tell her that.
“Bwook-LYN is my BOY-fwend!” she yells at the top of her lungs.
She has a huge crush on him.
I can’t blame the girl.
Kym walks into the kitchen. She’s weighed down by an armful of hanging garment bags; probably some new outfits for Mom’s upcoming press tour. “Oh my word, I could never have kids. They’re so messy. Look at them. Look at this place.”