Page 21 of Learning at 40

“It’s actually from The Empire Strikes Back, and it’s my ring tone for the boys.”

“Zack!” I choke around more laughter. “That’s a terrible theme song for your boys.” The laughter breaks all the tension filling my thoughts.

Zack shakes his head and kneels upright, straddling my right leg while my left slips from his hip. “I need to answer this.”

“Of course.” I softly smile at him.

“Hello.” His short, clipped greeting reminds me of how he addresses his children. I shift to sit upright, but he places a hand on my stomach, willing me to stay in place. Instead, I balance on my elbows, glancing up at him. I should give him privacy, but the call is quick.

Zack’s eyes close as he says, “Okay, I’ll be right over.”

When he clicks off the phone, he tosses it on the cushion and falls forward, bracing himself with extended arms over me.

“The stormtroopers are invading,” I tease as I drop to my back again.

“Oliver says he has a stomachache.”

“Poor baby,” I whimper, pouting my lower lip.

“Poor daddy,” he huffs. “I wasn’t finished with you.” He lowers his face, running his nose along my neck before nearing my ear.

“But you are a dad, and your boys should always come first,” I whisper to him, shivering under the drag of his nose.

He traces the shell of my ear before whispering to me. “I like your laugh.” His voice hints at a smile. He’s sweet, and my lips curl as his nose retraces his path along my neck. My hands reach for his shoulders, coasting over them before sliding down his arms to his wrists.

“You need to go,” I whisper, disguising my disappointment. I meant what I’ve said. His boys should always come first, and perhaps that phone call was what we needed to stop us from going further than we should in one night.

“Are we all good here, angel?” He pulls back, staring down at my mouth, and I have no idea what he means with that question. As I don’t answer him, he places a final kiss to the side of my neck before pressing upward over me and removing himself from the chaise lounge. He stands with his back to me a second, adjusting the ache that matches mine.

Zack rounds the lounger for the bottle of wine and the half-filled glasses. He picks up the wineglasses by slipping his fingers inside the rim and curls a fist around the bottleneck as I sit upright, straightening my sleep dress. With his side to me, I open my mouth, but I’m uncertain what to say, until he speaks.

“Get some sleep. Have a good day at work tomorrow.” Giving me a final look, I weakly wave with a single flip of my wrist. Once he disappears around the corner of my house, I toss myself backward and stare up at the blanket of stars, wondering just what the heck I’m doing with one hot single dad who can only promise me ten days.

8

[River]

It’s been a particularly long day. After not sleeping well because I was too keyed up from Zack’s kisses, one of my favorite patients is having a rough afternoon, and I’m emotionally exhausted. I knew things would be different when I took the position at the local hospital. The diagnosis of my patients is the same, but their age is at the opposite end of the spectrum from my previous experience. I love what I do, but some days are more difficult than others.

As I pull into my yard, I don’t even have the energy for a run, which normally releases tension after a tough shift. I don’t even have the brainpower to struggle through thoughts of Zack and kissing him last night. All I want is a quick, hot shower and a silent, comfy bed. Instead, the ruckus of power saws and hammers rattle nearby. So near that I realize the noise is coming from behind my house.

After I round the house for my backyard, I still in my tracks. My mouth falls open at the sight of two sweaty, shirtless men with jacked abs and intent focus on their faces—one cutting two-by-four boards and the other measuring the tree in my yard. Assisting these two wannabe lumberjacks with their loose hanging khaki shorts and construction boots are two little men, also without shirts but quite a bit skinnier, shorter, and younger by almost thirty years.

“What the hell is going on?”

The power saw drones to a stop as Oliver races up to me. He runs like he’s ready to tackle-hug me, and I brace myself, but he halts a foot away. A coat of sawdust covers his brow. He’s wearing child-sized workman gloves, and his excited expression falters when he glances up at me.

“We’re rebuilding the tree fort.” His small voice should melt my fury, but this is my yard. My head pops up, and I peer at Zack across the lawn. He’s leaning over the sawhorses holding fresh-cut boards. Mason stands a few feet away, looking upward where he just finished measuring the height to the original platform from the ground.

Slowly, Zack approaches, tipping up safety goggles while he walks. “You mentioned yesterday it might be a good project for the boys. I thought we’d get a head start.”

“You realize this is private property, right? My property. My yard,” I snap. A shaky hand presses at my forehead, where I suddenly feel the pressure of a headache. Softer, I mutter, “You have no boundaries.” Drinking out of my wineglass. Watching me in my yard. And now this, helping himself to build a fort in a tree when I don’t even have children of my own to enjoy it. Hell, even his children will only be here for a limited number of days.

After barking at Zack, my eyes drop to Oliver, whose stricken face twists my insides. Lowering to a squat before him, I stare up at his dirty little face and brush back hair sticking to his forehead.

“Hey.” I soften my tone by taking a calming breath. “I thought we were going to fix it together.”

“Dad offered to help.” Dad offered to help. My eyes leap up to Zack. Honestly, it’s more important that this man does things with his boys. Their behavior is a desperate cry for attention, and once again, I wish Zack would appreciate what he has in them—healthy, generally happy, rambunctious seven-year-olds.