Penthouse Prince(23)
Fuck it.
I stand and begin packing up my computer and papers. I’ve checked off all the things that have to happen during business hours, so I can do the rest tonight after Grier is in bed. A little sleep deprivation won’t kill me.
When I get back home, I’m greeted with the unfairly adorable scene of Corrigan on the couch, brushing Grier’s hair, while Grier sits on the carpet between her knees, playing with Flapflap. They both turn at the sound of the door opening.
“Daddy home!” Grier looks back and forth between us, clearly torn—which I’m not totally sure how to feel about—then clambers up and runs over to hug my leg.
I shift quickly to keep her from clobbering me in the nuts, and lift her into my arms. “Hi, baby girl.”
Corrigan blinks at me, surprised. “You’re back?”
“Indeed I am.” I set Grier on the floor and ruffle her hair.
I admit, I’m a little jealous at how fast her loyalties became divided. After all, for two years it’s only been us against the world. I’m only a little jealous, though. Mostly it just takes a load off my mind to know how well she and Corrigan are getting along in such a short amount of time. And there’s that same flash of sweetness, of peace, that comes with seeing them together.
Corrigan chuckles. “Wow, I wish I could work that fast. Grading would be a snap.”
I rub my neck awkwardly. “It’s not that. I just couldn’t concentrate and decided I’d try again later. I was wondering if you . . .” I don’t know how I’m going to finish that sentence, but fortunately, an idea leaps straight out of my mouth. “If you two wanted to go to the beach. I’ve not taken her yet.”
“You definitely should. She loved it before—and we barely went off the pier that time.” Corrigan stands and starts toward the door.
“You could join us.”
Her brow creases in confusion. “Oh. All three of us?”
“Do you have other plans?” I’m probably not playing fair, because of course she doesn’t have other plans. Her afternoon was supposed to be spent watching Grier.
Corrigan stays quiet for a second, not answering me. I’m not sure why, but I need her to say yes.
“Don’t worry, I’ll still pay you for your time. You already set aside your day to come over here and all.”
“Well, why not?” She pauses, frowning. “I didn’t bring a swimsuit, though.”
“Grier and I don’t have any either. Well, technically I do, somewhere in one of the boxes in my room.” I wave my hand in their general direction. I managed to shrink the disaster zone last weekend, but actually finishing unpacking will take a while yet.
I leave Grier with Corrigan while I quickly change into cargo shorts and sandals. When I head back to the living room, this time I’m definitely not imagining the way Corrigan’s gaze seems to drink me in. Interesting.
After I assemble a quick picnic lunch and load up the car with the hundred and one things a toddler needs to go on an outing, then get Grier buckled in, we’re off.
At the beach, we put on sunscreen in the parking lot. Getting Grier done is a lot easier with two people—one to hold the squirmy toddler, and one to apply the cream.
After buying her a plastic bucket and shovel on the pier, we weave through plenty of spread-out towels on the sand before finding an unclaimed spot to put down our blanket and basket. I’d forgotten that beach season around here starts the instant school lets out.
Taking note of how huge Grier’s eyes grow at the sight of the ocean, I ask, “Should we check out the water?”
Her rapturous smile says it all.
Corrigan and I take off her shoes and socks, then bend to each hold one of her hands and help her step through the very edge of the lapping waves. Every time the cool water washes over her feet, she squeals and dances.
I glance over her head to Corrigan, only to find her already looking at me, and something intense and searching in her eyes paralyzes me. I can’t bring myself to break our shared gaze and I only look away when she does.
After Grier has had her fill of the ocean, we spend a little while just lounging in the sun while watching Grier dig a hole and occasionally gasp when a tiny crab scuttles past.
Eventually, I ask, “What should we do next?”
“Hmm . . . how about a sandcastle?” Corrigan says, smiling at Grier.
Grier cocks her head. “Castle?”
“Just like the ones in your princess books, love bug. Except we make these ones out of sand, see?” I demonstrate, scooping wet sand into her bucket and upending it to form a messy but functional tower.
Grier squeals and wriggles in excitement, reaching out. “Gimme bucket!”
“Don’t you want help?” I ask.
Grier shakes her head firmly. “No. Me do it.”
I see we’re on a roll today as far as stubborn independence goes. I chuckle. There are worse personality traits.
“Are you sure?” Corrigan asks Grier. “If you tell us what to do, we can make a much bigger castle than if you had to do everything all by yourself.”
Grier considers, clearly intrigued by the idea of bossing adults around, then nods.
We get to work helping Grier build towers, and decorate them with pebbles and dune grass according to her exacting standards. The sight of Corrigan playing and giggling with my daughter coaxes out a laugh of my own. Plus, my kid is just really adorable.