Chapter 4
4
JONAS
"Mr. Knight? Do you have a moment?"
I'm trying to wrangle my kids away from their pre-breakfast swim when the resort manager appears, wearing the kind of smile that could mean someone's complained about us. Given that Lukas is currently demonstrating his "super splash attack" while Jace refuses to let go of her soaked princess dress, I wouldn't be surprised.
"Whatever the damage is, I'll cover it," I say automatically. It's become my standard response since having kids.
"Oh no, nothing like that." He laughs nervously. "Actually, it's about the laptop incident."
Ah. That.
"Already planning to replace it," I assure him, catching Lukas mid-splash. "Buddy, remember what we said about indoor voice and indoor splashing?"
"But Daddy, I'm showing my moves."
"The resort would like to... smooth things over," the manager continues, watching Lukas demonstrate… whatever it is he’s doing. "Miss Minty is actually here on assignment. She's writing about our family-friendly activities."
I pause in the middle of trying to convince Jace that yes, princesses do sometimes change out of wet clothes. "The travel writer? The one who..."
"The pretty pool lady," Lukas announces, suddenly interested in the conversation.
"With the sparkly nails," Jace adds.
"I broke her laptop," Lukas adds helpfully. "But it was the best splash ever."
"About that," the manager—his name tag reads 'David'—clears his throat. "We were hoping you might be willing to... participate in her research? Show her some of our family activities? Given the unfortunate first impression..."
That's when I see her, walking toward us in a sarong that definitely wasn't designed for family-friendly activities. My brain short-circuits somewhere between "research" and "first impression."
"Miss Minty." David waves her over with slightly manic enthusiasm. "I was just explaining to Mr. Knight about your assignment."
She approaches with the caution of someone who's learned the hard way about splash zones. The sarong shifts with each step, exposing a tanned, toned thigh. I force my eyes up to safer territory, like her face, which isn't actually safer at all because she's got this half-smile that suggests she knows exactly what that sarong is doing to my ability to think and speak clearly.
"The laptop killer himself," she says, but she's smiling. "We meet again."
"Technically, the laptop killers were these two creatures." I gesture to my kids, who have abandoned all pretense of drying off in favor of staring at Alexa with unabashed curiosity.
"You're pretty," Jace announces with the brutal honesty of a three-year-old. "Like a princess. Can you make princess hair?"
"Jace, remember what we said about personal space?" But Alexa's already kneeling down to eye level with my daughter, seemingly unbothered by the wet hug she's about to receive.
"I know a little bit about princess hair," she says seriously. "But I hear you're the real princess expert around here."
Jace beams. I'm done for.
"Perhaps Miss Minty could join you for some activities?" David suggests. "For her article?"
"The one we drowned?" Lukas asks.
"Yup, that one." Alexa stands, and that sarong does something completely unfair.
"We said sorry." Lukas reminds her. "And Daddy's gonna buy you coffee. He says coffee makes everything better.”
"Does he?" She raises an eyebrow at me, and suddenly I'm very aware that I'm standing here in wet swim trunks while my kids are starting to spill more about me than I am ready for this woman to know.
"Coffee's a universal solution," I manage. "Right up there with dinosaur band-aids."
"Speaking of solutions," David interjects, "the resort would be happy to comp some activities. Perhaps the submarine tour? Or our luau?"
"The one with the fire dancers?" Lukas's eyes light up. "Can we go, Dad? Please?"
"Only if Miss Minty wants to risk more property damage," I say, but I'm watching her face. She's good—maintains her professional smile even as my son demonstrates his version of fire dancing, spinning in circles until he falls over.
"It could make good content," she says carefully. "The full family resort experience."
"With the laptop killers themselves," I add.
She laughs, a loud but endearing laugh, the laugh of a confident woman who doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks of her. Something in my chest shifts, followed by a twinge down in my swim shorts. Dangerous territory.
"The resort offers several dining options," David jumps in. "Perhaps Miss Minty could join you? To observe the family dining experience?"
Family dining experience? Poor woman has no idea what she’s in for.
But my kids light up. "Yes," they scream.
I watch Alexa's professional mask slip just a fraction, revealing something that looks almost like amusement before she catches herself. "I should really focus on the activities..."
"What’s an activity, Dad?" Lukas asks, his little brow furrowed.
“Breakfast is an activity,” David tells him.
“It’s not an activity,” Lukas yells. “It’s a meal.”
"Lukas, it’s a meal as well as an activity.” I risk a direct look at Alexa. "Let’s just start with coffee.”
“Yes, we’re having coffee.”
"PRINCESS HAIR TIME." Jace announces, breaking the moment by attaching herself to Alexa's leg.
David beams like this was all his idea. "Wonderful. I'll have the activities schedule sent to your rooms. Miss Minty, the resort looks forward to your blog feature."
As he walks away, I catch Alexa's eye. "So... princess hair?" I ask.
"Don't push it, Hockey Dad."
But she's smiling.
And I'm in so much trouble.
I've seen my kids charm their way through plenty of situations. They worked over their nanny, Frenchie, in about ten minutes flat. They've got their grandmother, Gloria, wrapped around their fingers. Even my toughest Aftershocks teammates turn to mush around them. But watching them deploy their full arsenal of cuteness on Alexa Minty is something else entirely.
Little buggers are like some kind of secret weapon.
After coffee, we’re back at the pool, where Jace has wormed her way up onto Alexa’s lap and demanded she do her hair.
"Like this?" Alexa's fingers work with surprising skill while my daughter clutches her Elsa doll, providing very specific and bossy direction.
"No, I want more twisty."
"Pretty sure that requires CGI, princess," I offer. Close enough to supervise, far enough to pretend I'm not completely fascinated by how natural Alexa is with my daughter.
"What's CGI?" Lukas asks.
"Computer magic," Alexa answers, and just like that, both kids are looking at her like she's some kind of tech prophet. "I bet we can make some real magic happen here."
"Can you do magic?" Jace's eyes go wide. "Like Elsa?"
"Different kind of magic." Alexa's fingers move faster now, weaving some complicated pattern that has Jace literally bouncing with excitement. "I can make regular braids look like magic braids."
"Dad can't do braids," Lukas informs her solemnly. "He tries though. On Jace, not me. Because I’m a boy."
"Thanks for that, buddy."
"He does good ponytails," Jace adds loyally. "Lumpy ponytails."
"Lumpy ponytails are very in this season," Alexa says with perfect seriousness, and I can’t wipe the damn grin off my face.
"Watch this." Lukas, apparently deciding he's had enough of the hair talk, launches into his latest pool routine. "I'm practicing to be like Daddy."
"Wow," Alexa manages to say with a straight face as my son demonstrates what he calls a "hockey swim"—basically just splashing while making puck shooting noises.
"Daddy plays hockey," Jace informs her, in case that wasn't already clear. "He's real good."
"I've heard that," Alexa says carefully, maintaining her professional tone even as Lukas sends a tidal wave of splashes our way. "Your dad's famous."
"Famous means lots of people know him," Lukas explains. "Like Mickey Mouse."
"Exactly like Mickey Mouse," I agree, catching Alexa's barely suppressed smirk. "Though Mickey probably has better hair-styling skills."
Jace twists around to face Alexa. "Can you come to my birthday? It's a princess party," she says, clapping
"It's not for three more months," I add quickly.
Luke executes another splash attack. "You have to come. I'm gonna do hockey moves at the party."
"I thought it was a princess party?"
"Hockey princesses." Both kids say it like it's obvious.
"I like ballet AND hockey," Jace announces proudly.
Alexa secures the braid with a flourish. "There. One magic braid, fit for a hockey princess."
Jace’s hands rush to her new hairstyle, her squeals of delight attracting looks from all around the pool.
She spins to face us, braid whipping around like a weapon. "Daddy, look. It's like Elsa."
"Beautiful," I agree, though I'm watching Alexa's face as my daughter throws her arms around her. She’s a combination of flattered and uncomfortable at the same time, and quickly lets go, remembering her professional distance.
"My turn." Lukas demands, climbing out of the pool. "Can you make my hair do hockey moves?"
"Pretty sure your hair's too short for braids, buddy."
"But I want magic too." He gives Alexa his best sad-kid eyes, the ones that usually get him extra dessert from his grandmother. "Please?"
I'm about to intervene—my kids are professionals at wearing people down—but Alexa surprises me.
"How about this kind of magic?" She pulls her phone out, tells Lukas to jump, and snaps a quick photo. A few taps later, she shows him the screen, where she's somehow added effects that make it look like he's shooting ice from his hands.
"WHOA." Both kids crowd around the phone, previous activities forgotten. "Can you make me shoot fire? Can you make Jace fly? Can you?—"
"Hold on there, kiddos." I step in before they can completely overwhelm her. "Miss Minty's here to work, remember? To write about the resort?"
"She's our friend now," Jace protests, still staring at the photo Alexa took of her.
"And what does Miss Minty get out of this friendship?" I ask, trying to teach a lesson about give and take.
"We can teach her how to cannonball." Lukas bounces with inspiration.
"Pretty sure that's what got us into this situation in the first place," Alexa reminds them, but it goes right over their heads.
"Then we can teach you how to make Daddy's special pancakes. And how to do hockey cheers. And?—"
"How about we start by letting Miss Minty do her job?" I suggest, noting how she keeps glancing at her notebook, probably thinking about deadlines.
"But—"
"No buts. She's got work to do, and you've got swim lessons in ten minutes."
Their disappointed faces would break a lesser person. But Alexa straightens her professional mask. "Tell you what—I need to observe some swim lessons for my article. Maybe I'll see you there?"
"Yay,” Jace hollers.
"Can't write about family activities without seeing them in action, right?"
I catch Alexa's eye. "Sorry about that. They can be a bit..."
"Enthusiastic?"
"I was going to say pushy, demanding, and downright manipulative.'"
She takes off her bucket hat and shakes out her hair, with no idea what she’s doing to me. "They're good kids."
"They're the best kids," I agree. "But they're also tiny emotional hurricanes who don't understand boundaries."
"Unlike their father?"
"I always understand boundaries," I say with complete seriousness. "I just choose to ignore them sometimes."
Her laugh catches us both off guard.
"Swim lessons," she reminds me, recovering her professional tone.
"Swim lessons," I agree, trying to ignore how well she fits into our lives.
The thing about kids is they have absolutely no filter and even less subtlety. Which is why I'm currently trying not to choke as Lukas announces to the entire pool area, "Daddy, Miss Minty has pretty eyes like Mommy."
Alexa, who's been attempting to maintain admirable professional distance while taking notes about the resort's swim program, freezes mid-sentence. The mom squad in the corner stops their conversation to stare. Even the swim instructor pauses his demonstration.
"Inside voice, buddy," I manage, but the damage is done.
"But it's true." He's using his inside voice now, which means only half the pool can hear him. "Remember the blue picture? The one where Mommy's laughing? Miss Minty laughs too.”
I risk a glance at Alexa, who's gripping her notebook like it's a protective shield. Her professional mask slips just enough for me to catch something that looks like panic.
Shit, shit, shit.
"The swim instructor is demonstrating kicking," she says pointing, turning a page with perhaps more force than necessary. "Very important for the article."
But Lukas, having discovered his new favorite topic, is undeterred. "And she's pretty like Mommy too. Right, Daddy? That's why you keep looking at her when she's writing."
Some of the mothers sigh.
I want to crawl away and die.
"I think," I say carefully, "that Miss Minty needs to focus on her work right now."
Jace pipes up from the pool, where she's hanging onto the side and supposedly practicing her kicks. “She can sleep over like Frenchie does," she yells.
Alexa chokes.
"Frenchie is our nanny," I explain quickly, as if that makes any of this better. "She sometimes stays over when I have early practice or away games."
"Miss Minty can be our new Frenchie," Lukas suggests with the kind of enthusiasm that makes me wish the pool would suddenly need emergency maintenance. "But better because she does magic braids."
"I'm not—" Alexa starts.
"Can you read stories?" Jace shouts.
"I really don't?—"
"And then she can marry Daddy and be our new mommy," Lukas hollers.
Dead silence falls over the pool area. Even the volcano seems to hold its scheduled eruption and I could swear the earth stops rotating for a second or two.
Or maybe that’s my heart, just deciding to up and stop because what is the point of going on?
"Time for a snack," I announce with forced cheerfulness. "Right now. Immediately. Get out of the pool and come with me."
"But we’re not done with swim lessons," Lukas protests.
"Can Miss Minty come?” Jace asks as I whip her out of the water and wrap her in a towel.
"Miss Minty needs to write her article," Alexa says, finally finding her voice. "About the resort. The very professional article about the very professional resort activities."
"Miss Minty is here to work. Remember what we said about respecting people's jobs?" I say.
"But—"
"No buts. Snack time. Now."
They trudge behind me, but not before Lukas stage-whispers to Alexa, "Don't worry, you can marry my daddy later. After you finish your work.”
I set the kids up at a round table under an umbrella and feed them carrot sticks with hummus, one of their favorites that’s guaranteed to keep them occupied for at least a few minutes.
I slink back over to Alexa. "I am so sorry. They get excited and they just... say crazy things."
"It's fine." Her voice suggests it's very much not fine. "Kids say the darnedest things, right? Great material for the article. Very authentic family resort experience."
"They didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
"I'm not uncomfortable." She's shuffling her notes like she wants to crawl out of her skin. "I'm working. Being professional. Writing about family activities that definitely don't include impromptu weddings as suggested by little kids."
Jesus Christ. This is fucking agony.
I try to dig myself out. "If it makes you feel better, their last wedding plan involved marrying me off to a pizza delivery girl."
She actually laughs at that, the tension breaking slightly. "Should I be honored to outrank pizza?"
I raise my hands. "Slow down now. I wouldn’t assume that you have. They love pizza, possibly more than princess braids, or whatever Jace calls those things.”
It’s funny, right? This whole thing is funny.
"I see." She takes a breath, professional mask sliding back into place. "Well, I should probably observe some other activities. Preferably ones that don't involve marriage proposals."
"They mean well," I say. "They just... they see someone being kind to them and they want to keep them. Make them part of the story."
Something flickers across her face. "I'm not really the 'part of the story' type."
"No?" I catch her eye. "Could have fooled me with that princess braid magic earlier."
"That was..." She looks away. "Research. For the article."
"Right. Very professional research."
"Exactly."
"DAD," Lukas calls, his face smeared with hummus. “Can Miss Minty come see the fish with us?”
Alexa gathers her things with impressive speed. "I should really check out the... the..."
"Adult pool?" I suggest. "The one with significantly less marriage talk?"
"That." She stands, then pauses. "They're good kids, you know. Even if they're trying to marry off their dad to random resort guests."
"Not so random," I say before I can stop myself. "They have excellent taste."
Her blush is definitely not professional. "I’ll see you later.”
As she walks away, Jace calls out one more time: "Remember the princesses!"
I watch Alexa’s shoulders shake with what might be laughter before she disappears around the corner. When I join the kids, they’re drawing what looks like a volcano surrounded by flowers.
“She’s nice,” Jace announces, adding what I’m pretty sure is a heart to the scene. “Right, Daddy?”
I glance at their hopeful faces, then at the corner where Alexa disappeared, and finally at the mess of carrots they’ve left all over the table.
“Finish your volcano,” I say. “Nice doesn’t mean anything.”
And yet, I don’t stop myself from looking back at the empty corner.
Every parent knows that look. The one that comes right before total meltdown. I see it building in Jace's eyes during dinner—that dangerous combination of overtired and overstimulated that usually ends with the entire family in tears.
"Jace, do you want to go back to the room? I think you’re tired."
"NO." She slams her kids’ fork down with the force of someone three times her size. "NOT tired."
The couple at the next table gives us a look—one that says they're either judging my parenting or remembering their own little ones’ days with PTSD-level clarity.
"Inside voice," I remind her, but we're way past inside voice territory. We're entering full nuclear meltdown zone.
"I DON'T WANT INSIDE VOICE." The fork goes flying. Somewhere in the distance, I hear the universe rumble in sympathy. "I WANT TO SWIM MORE," she shrieks.
Lukas, ever helpful, chips in, "Jace, you're being a baby. Baby, baby, baby."
And there it is. The final straw.
The scream that then erupts from my daughter must register on seismic monitors. Her face goes that special shade of red that only three-year-olds can achieve, and the tears, oh, the tears. They flow like Niagara Falls.
"I'M NOT A BABY." She throws something else to the floor too fast for me to see it. "I HATE THIS."
I'm calculating the fastest escape route when a familiar voice cuts through the commotion. "Did you know there used to be a princess right here in this restaurant?"
Jace's next scream cuts off mid-wail and we turn to find Alexa standing there, somehow looking both professional and magical in the evening light.
"A... princess?" Jace hiccups, her face streaked with tears.
"Oh yes." Alexa pulls out the empty chair like she's been invited, like she hasn't just walked into a category five tantrum. "She was the most beautiful princess on all the islands. And you know what?"
Jace shakes her head, tears momentarily forgotten.
"She had the most amazing temper. When she got mad, the volcanos would actually erupt."
"Like that one?" Lukas points to the resort's centerpiece, currently right on schedule with its hourly show.
"Exactly like that one." Alexa leans in conspiratorially. "They say she's still here, watching over all the little princesses who visit. But she only shows herself to the ones who can control their own volcano feelings. The ones who don’t shout in restaurants."
Jace's lower lip trembles, but differently now. "She does... ?"
"Well," Alexa settles in like she's about to share the secrets of the universe, "first, she takes a deep breath. Like this."
She demonstrates, and to my absolute amazement, Jace copies her.
"Then, she thinks about her favorite thing in the whole world. What's yours?"
"Princess hair," Jace whispers, touching the braid Alexa did earlier.
"Perfect. So she thinks about princess hair, and she takes another deep breath, and then..."
"Then what?"
"Then she remembers that real princesses know when their bodies need rest. Because you can't rule a kingdom if you're too tired to keep your eyes open."
I watch in astonishment as my daughter—my stubborn, fierce, absolutely exhausted daughter—considers this.
"Can... can the princess see me now?"
"I bet she can." Alexa points to the volcano, which chooses that exact moment to send up a spray of water. "Look, she's saying hello."
Jace's eyes go wide. The tears are gone.
"Do you think..." She yawns hugely. "Do you think she likes my braid?"
"I think she loves it. And I think she's very proud of you for controlling your volcano feelings."
"Yes," Jace agrees, as if this is her own idea.
"That's your body telling you it's time to rest," Alexa says seriously.
I scoop my daughter up, stunned by the child-whisperer before me. "Say thank you to Miss Minty?"
"Thank you," she mumbles into my shoulder, already half asleep.
"Can you tell us more stories tomorrow?" Lukas adds, also under Alexa's spell.
"I'm here to work," she reminds him. "Write about the resort, remember?"
I shift Jace's weight, noting how her breathing is evening out. Thank freaking God. "Say goodnight, guys."
They mumble, both fading fast. As I stand to leave, I catch Alexa's eye.
"Thank you," I say quietly. "That was... impressive."
She laughs it off. "Just doing my job. Observing family dynamics and all that."
"Pretty sure toddler tantrum management wasn't in your job description."
"Consider it extra research."
I look at her then—like, really look at her. The way she handled my daughter's meltdown wasn't just skilled, it was... natural. Like she instinctively knew exactly what the kid needed to hear.
This woman is not Frenchie replacement material.
She's something much more dangerous.
"Daddy?" Jace stirs slightly. "Is Miss Minty a real princess?"
Alexa's eyes meet mine, and something passes between us—something that has nothing to do with professional distance or resort reviews.
I’m not sure whether I like it or not.
"Get some rest, volcano princess," she says. “More adventures later.”
As I carry my kids back to our room, I can’t help but think that’s what Alexa Minty is—an adventure. The kind that could either be exactly what we need or the kind that completely upends everything I’ve spent the past two years trying to rebuild.
Probably both.
Definitely both.
Adventures like Alexa aren’t for people like me. They’re for people who don’t have three- and four-year-olds asking if a travel writer is secretly a princess, or people who don’t have the weight of someone else’s world on their shoulders.
I tuck Jace into bed and glance at Lukas, already sprawled out next to her.
Yeah. Alexa Minty is definitely trouble. The kind you walk away from.
And yet, I can still hear her voice— more adventures later.