Chapter Sixty-Four
Phoenix
We cooked, we ate, we swam.
In between regaling Lincoln with stories of her travels, my little intruse expertly peppered my son with questions all day long.
Langley should’ve made a case study of her vetting technique.
Except my son wasn’t an asset, and my little trespasser seemed more interested in the reactions she was evoking than the answers themselves.
If Lincoln smiled, she grinned. If he showed surprise, she laughed.
But if he laughed, it was the contagion effect.
I was indexing every reaction.
My son was the most relaxed I’d ever seen him.
And my intruse was doing exactly what she was expert at—trespassing her way into our affections.
Seamlessly weaving herself around me and Lincoln, she was intuitively reading his maturity, but not forgetful of his age.
Treating him like an equal, but also gently imparting her brand of wisdom, she showed fondness at every turn and respect always.
She also displayed the same passionate enthusiasm for our backyard swim as she had for a dolphin encounter off the stern of a sixty-five-meter yacht in the middle of the Mediterranean.
By sundown, I was planning our future.
They were in the pool, discussing constellations.
I started the grill, then went inside to grab steaks, salmon, and vegetables from the kitchen. When I came back out, Lincoln was poised to jump into the deep end, but he paused when he saw me, his hand instantly going to his stomach. “Are you making dinner now?”
“I am. Hungry?”
“Oh yeah.” He nodded enthusiastically.
Isla laughed as she swam toward the steps. “Linc, what’s your most favorite dinner?”
“Oh, um….” Lincoln glanced at me. “What are you making?”
“Steaks for us, salmon for Isla.”
He looked back at my intruse. “I like steak. But I eat anything. I’m not picky. My mom told me to never be picky with food or stingy with manners.”
I immediately looked up from the grill. It was the first time Lincoln had mentioned his mother all day.
“I think that’s amazing advice.” Isla smiled. “Your mom sounds really great.”
My son’s face instantly fell. “She was.” He dove into the pool.
Isla’s shocked gaze cut to me.
“His mother’s recently deceased.” Before I could defend my decision to give Lincoln the chance to tell Isla on his terms, that I would’ve read her in later if he hadn’t, my son surfaced.
Isla swam over to him and hugged him hard. “I’m so sorry, Lincoln.”
“Thanks.” My son allowed the hug, but then lifted himself out of the pool and headed to the deep end. Right before he dove in, he gave us both his raw emotion. “Cancer sucks.”
If I hadn’t been watching Isla the moment Lincoln said it, I would’ve missed it.
But I didn’t.
Isla flinched, then her entire body language and demeanor changed.
It was drastic and as subtle as Isla herself—a stunning sun-kissed woman who could disarm Ares and hold a knife to his throat one minute, then disappear on the docks another.
There, then gone.
I was already moving toward my intruse.
Keeping an eye on her, tracking my son as he swam underwater, my new life suddenly shifting from my grasp, I reached for it.