What Love Looks Like

“Oh, umm…” Sawyer glances at me, unsure what to say. “Let me talk to Hudson for a moment.” She finds a table and sets her daughter in the chair. “You guys wait right here.”

The kids do as she says, and then she guides me a few feet away, just out of hearing distance. “I didn’t mean to run away this morning…” she begins, but I shake my head.

“I get it. You had to get back to your daughter.”

“I didn’t know you were a dad…”

“And I didn’t know you were a mom.” I glance at our kids, who are talking and laughing as they play some hand slap game. “Last night was about us. Being a single dad, I rarely get those nights, so it was nice to just be me, and I thoroughly enjoyed spending time with you.”

Sawyer’s cheeks blush a gorgeous shade of pink. “I enjoyed our time together too.”

“Dad, have you decided?” Presley asks, her lack of patience coming out.

“What do you say?” I ask Sawyer. “Nothing says good job for punching a bully like ice cream and swimming.”

Sawyer barks out a laugh. “You sure? I don’t want to intrude…”

“You’re definitely not intruding. And from what I’ve seen, both of my children are quite taken with your daughter. Seems we have a thing for the Addison women.” I wink playfully, and she snorts.

“Okay, ice cream and swimming… in the pool.”

“And the beach,” I add, walking away before she can argue.

“So, can we?” Lucas asks, hopeful.

“You think you deserve to have ice cream and go swimming after getting kicked out of camp?” I ask him, wondering what he’ll say.

“Um, well…” He shifts in his seat.

“The truth.”

“He hurt Abby and made her cry. Maybe I shouldn’t have hit him, but he’s really mean.”

“I get that,” I say, sitting next to him. “But Abby’s mom was right. Next time, you need to let an adult handle it. Using violence to stop violence isn’t the right answer.”

“What about when I’m an adult?” he asks, curious as always.

“There are times when violence is needed, but it should never be the first answer. Understand?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He shrugs, clearly not sorry for punching that little shit, and I don’t blame him. I would’ve done the same thing. I’ve taught my son to protect women, and he did what he was taught.

“So, does that mean we can get ice cream?” Presley asks. “I really, really want mint chip.”

“Me too! I want mint chip!” Abby agrees, her eyes lighting up in excitement, looking like a mini version of her mom.

“I thought cookie dough was your favorite,” Sawyer says to her daughter. “Have you ever had mint chip?”

“Well, no…” Abby says softly, “but it’s Presley’s favorite, so it’s mine too. She’s my best friend.”

Sawyer bites on the corner of her bottom lip to stifle her laughter. “Okay, then.”

“Ice cream?” Lucas asks again to get us back on track.

“Hmm, I don’t know. What do you think, Sawyer?” I ask. “Do these guys deserve it?”

“I think so. But maybe only one scoop instead of two since they got kicked out of camp.” She winks at the kids, and they all cheer in excitement, jumping out of their chairs and heading in the direction of the ice cream shop.

“No running!” she yells after them.

“Beach!” Presley yells, ice cream covering her mouth, cheeks, and the front of her cover-up. I swear more food ends up on her than in her belly.

“Yeah,” Lucas agrees. “Let’s go to the beach instead of the pool. I want to use my boogie board. Pleassseee.”

I glance at Abby, waiting for her to join in, but she stays quiet, just like her mom, and both of them look slightly uncomfortable. And that’s when I remember what Sawyer told me last night—that they’ve never actually been in the ocean.

“Why don’t we go to the pool?” I say to my kids. “The one with the pirate ship and waterslide.”

“Daaadd,” they both whine. “We want to go to the beach.”

“I want to play with my sandcastle buckets,” Presley says.

“You guys go,” Sawyer says to me. “Thank you for the ice cream.” She looks at Lucas. “And for coming to Abby’s defense.”

“Why don’t you guys come?” Lucas asks. “I can let you use my boogie board if you promise to be careful.”

Sawyer smiles softly at his generosity while Abby chews on her bottom lip, looking torn. It’s clear she wants to join my kids, but she’s scared.

“That’s very nice of you,” Sawyer says, “but we’re going to go hang out at the pool.”

Both my kids pout but already respect her enough not to argue.

“Will you be at camp tomorrow?” Abby asks, hopeful. She hasn’t talked much, at least not while we’ve been eating our ice cream, but it’s clear my kids adore her. They seem to do about ninety percent of the talking, and she adds in when she feels it’s necessary.