Rugged(81)

“I have an idea.” I hand them a key card, which David takes. He stares like he doesn’t know what it is. “What say Flint and I take the kids and leave the pair of you in the Mandarin Penthouse? They have a spa hot tub, champagne, and soundproof walls in case you want to continue this conversation in private.”

“Champagne?” Callie says, looking at David with amazement.

“Soundproof walls?” he asks, incredulous. Then, together, they say,

“You’ll take the kids?”

I get the stroller away from Callie, and Flint and I slowly make our way to the hotel doors. Lily and Callum don’t mind being away from Mom and Dad, now that they have Uncle Flinty with them. I pause at the doors to look back, make sure Callie and David haven’t started throttling each other in five star splendor. But they talk for a minute, then head toward the elevators, a bellhop taking David’s luggage. I heave a sigh of relief. Fantastic. That’ll at least give them a chance to talk.

“What do we do now?” Flint asks when we’re outside. He picks up a fussing Callum, who gleefully tugs on his uncle’s hair. “You know the area better than I do. Is there a ball pit we can throw these tikes into?”

“Tikes?” I say, laughing. Flint puts Callum back in his stroller, and I lead them toward the parking lot. “Well, if you’re in the mood for some fresh seaside air, I know a good spot.”

“Let me think,” Flint says, helping me load the fussing kids into their car seats. “Do I want to enjoy the great outdoors, or do I want to be stuck inland breathing in Los Angeles’s finest exhaust fumes?” He weighs his hands in the air, like it’s a tough decision. “Hmm. How the hell do I pick?”

“Maybe you get in the car and stop mouthing off like a smartass,” I tease. Then I look back at the kids in mock panic. “Oh no. I meant smart-butt!”

“Auntie Laurel’s a potty mouth,” Flint tells the kids as he slides into the car. “That’s what we like about her.”

My heart beats quickly at his words while I struggle with my seat belt. What we like. What we like, not what I like. There’s a difference, Laurel. Learn it and fast.

I drive us out of the smoggier, traffic-clogged parts of the city, until we hit the glorious Pacific Coast Highway. We drive along, marveling at the nearby sand and the sparkling blue waves. Flint rolls down the window and lets his hand trail in the breeze. For the first time since coming to the city, he looks at home, an easy smile on his face.

“You might be part golden retriever,” I say, grinning as I think of Flint running around in a collar. That is, not a fun kind of kinky collar. More like a dog collar, like…I’ll shut up now, brain. Thanks.

We turn up the ramp to get to the pier, which welcomes us with a bright, flashing sign. Once parked, we rumble down the boardwalk, lifting Lily and Callum up to see the sights. Look, there’s a man selling pink and blue cotton candy! See, there’s people riding on a giant Ferris wheel! Look, over there, that’s a couple of drunk guys arguing about who gets the best fishing spot and hitting each other with empty clam shells!

We have to leave once the men start throwing punches. Some things little kids shouldn’t see.

“This was a good idea,” Flint says, as we do our best to help Callum and Lily eat strawberry ice cream. Callum seems like he prefers dunking his face into the cup and coming up with a pink smeared nose. He chortles, then puts a sticky hand in Lily’s hair. I laugh as I wipe their faces with a wet wipe from their diaper bag.

“I always thought the pier was the nicest place for a family gathering,” I tell Flint, then instantly wish I’d shut up. Flint clears his throat and looks down at the ice cream, carefully spooning some for the kids. Right. Not family. Not even close. We’ve known each other biblically, yes, but not the same thing.

“Was that a carousel back there?” Flint asks, looking at the pink and blue domed building near the front of the park.

“It’s from the 1920s. I love it,” I say, grinning. Who doesn’t love a good carousel? Answer: people with no soul.

“Then I think we should take these two rascals for a ride,” Flint says, hoisting Lily onto his shoulder while she shrieks with glee. Seeing him so relaxed with the little girl, my heart does a traitorous squeeze. Maybe he’ll have kids with Charlotte. Adorable little munchkins with Flint’s gorgeous hair and eyes and Charlotte’s beautiful face. They’d be perfect.

We roll the kids to the carousel and buy tickets. I sit with Lily in the carriage pulled by a wooden swan, and Flint sits on a magnificent white horse, holding Callum in front of him. As we ride in slow circles, we chat.

“This your favorite place in LA?” he asks me, going up and down in the air on his trusty mount. Heh. Mount. Stop it, Laurel.

“I think the Malibu coastline is what really gets me,” I tell him, picturing the crashing white foamed waves against the beautiful beaches and rocky terrain. I’m a nature girl myself, in a way. I just prefer the ocean. “But I love this place.”

“Ever come here with that guy, what’s his name? Thomas?” Flint asks casually. My stomach sinks. He sounds fine with the idea of me dating someone new. Well, why shouldn’t he be fine? Besides, I want it to look like I’ve moved on as well. That would be for the best. Both of us healthily moving forward. Going our separate ways. Separately.