Storybook Romance

She bounced in the seat. “Ready.”

Just then, the wind blew her silky hair across his face. He froze, and the subtle scent of peaches surrounded him for a second. Instantly his knees went weak. For just a moment he had the undeniable urge to bend even closer and bury his face in that soft, fragrant mass of hair.

“Sam?” She quickly turned.

He couldn’t back up, and they ended up face-to-face, only inches apart. She froze, her lips slack, her blue gaze wide. He was so close he could see the light gray flecks in her eyes.

So close he’d only have to move a little bit and he’d be kissing her....

That stunning thought knocked some sense into him. With a remarkable amount of smoothness, considering the situation, he backed up a bit and gave her a smile, hoping he looked calm, cool and collected when he felt anything but. “Here we go.” He somehow managed to sound carefree, not strangled and flustered. Good. He could do suave. Kind of.

With a burst of power he pulled her up higher and then let her go.

She swung forward, pumping her legs and leaning back in perfect playground-swing style. Then she made the trip backward, her feet tucked underneath her as she leaned slightly forward. At just the right moment, honed from years on the playground as a kid, he firmly but gently pushed her slim back and she sailed forward, her hair flying behind her.

A crystal-clear laugh rang out and his breath caught in his chest at the pure sound of joy echoing in the evening air. He smiled, her delight his, her blithe happiness filtering into his blood. And so it went, her swinging back with him pushing her, establishing the perfect cadence, a perfect connection, no words needed. Swing. Push. Repeat.

He glanced at the sandbox to be sure the twins were okay. They were both seated in the sand, happily playing away, so Sam kept pushing. Soon Allison swung almost parallel with the top bar of the swing’s frame, so much so that she was starting to drop on her way back toward him instead of swinging smoothly. She let out a squeal, and suddenly he worried it was a fearful squeal rather than a delighted one, that she was soaring too high too fast. So on her next swing back, he acted on instinct and grabbed her around her slender waist.

Once he had a hold on her, he ran to stop her forward progress. “Whoa, there.”

She came to a jerky stop. Safe and sound. Unable to help himself, he left his arms around her, his head tucked in close to her shoulder from the back for just a moment. The fresh, fruity smell of her hair blasted him again, along with the feel of her so tantalizingly close to him. The now-familiar knee weakness hit him so hard he almost stumbled. By sheer will he pulled back and kept himself from face planting at her feet.

She giggled. “Wow, that was so much fun,” she said, turning, her face glowing rosy pink, her wind-tossed hair tumbling down around her shoulders. “It’s amazing how something as simple as a swing on a playground can make all my cares just disappear.”

“I was just thinking the same thing.” He smiled, trying not to stare at the pretty picture she made with the green grass as the perfect backdrop for her quiet yet disarming beauty. “Great minds, right?”

She stood. “Oh, definitely.” A slender eyebrow went up and she gestured to the swing. “You want a turn? It’s even better from there.”

He didn’t know how the experience could be better than watching her fly, hearing her laugh and having her hair close enough to smell. But he couldn’t say that without looking foolish. However, the thought of having her hands on his back, of sharing his delight with her, beckoned like an impossible dream. One he hadn’t allowed in a very long time.

For good reason.

Instantly reality crashed down on his head and he thought about soaring too high too fast. Not a good plan. Better to stay safe. Contained. In control. In all aspects of his life. He opened his mouth to reply, “no, thanks,” only to be interrupted by Rosie’s shriek. “Daddy! Nicky throwed sand on me!”

Sam darted his gaze to the sandbox. Rosie still sat there, only now huge globs of sand were stuck to her dark hair. Nicky stood in the grass, his eyes reflecting a mulish light.

Sam held up a hand to Allison. “Excuse me.” He went over to the sandbox. “Is this true, Nicky? Did you throw sand on your sister?” Sam asked in a stern voice.

“Ro-ro’s tryin’ to boss me,” Nicky said, his lower lip sticking out in a pronounced pout, which Sam knew was a sure sign of guilt in Nicky.

“He stealed my sand,” Rosie said with a glower of her own as she gestured to the whole sandbox. Obviously she thought every grain of sand was hers. Sam sighed. They’d need to work on sharing. A lot.

“My sand.” Nicky pointed at Rosie with a rigid finger.

Rosie bossing and Nicky reacting like this was a familiar skirmish, and Sam was growing tired of the conflict, especially when it involved silly things like sand. He did his best to keep his patience. “Hey, now, you two, let’s calm down. There’s enough sand for everyone.” Sounded logical.

Nicky bent and picked up a handful of sand. “My sand,” he said again, holding his hand up, obviously getting ready to hurl it at Rosie again.

“Nicky, do not throw that sand at your sister,” Sam commanded, shaking a finger.

Nicky wound up—

“Nicky?” Allison called. “How about I push you on the swing?”

Nicky’s gaze swung toward Allison just as Sam’s did.

“Swing?” Nicky asked, lowering his fistful of sand.

“Sure.” Allison crooked a finger. “I’d love to give you a fun ride, with my very special touch.”

Nicky dropped the sand at his feet, on to more attractive things, apparently. “Okay. I am special.” He ran to the swings and held up his arms to Allison. “Help me up.”

Figuratively, Sam’s jaw fell. Allison made refereeing the kids look so easy. So second nature for her. He looked at her, blinking, feeling like the parenting idiot Teresa always accused him of being.

As she lifted Nicky into the swing, she mouthed the word distraction.

“Ah,” he murmured. Smart woman. He needed to pay attention to her. Should be easy, considering how much he enjoyed being around her. And the twins. They enjoyed her, too.

Sam sat down on the edge of the sandbox and played with Rosie as she shaped sand into mountains. He kept one eye on Allison and Nicky—well, maybe both eyes, but who was keeping score?

In no time at all Allison had Nicky gently swinging, with a few easy spins thrown in for that special touch she spoke about. Nicky giggled and kicked his feet in obvious delight.

Just about the time Rosie had her third mountain completed, she started to whine and rub her eyes with the backs of her hands. Tiredness was setting in after their fun evening, and the kids’ bedtime was looming. Time to go. He only hoped he could get Nicky out of the park without a tantrum.

Sam stood. “I think it’s time to head home, kids.”

Nicky howled. “Nooo!” There it was, his usual reaction—argue and throw a fit. “I want to stay!” His face reddened and Sam knew tears would be next; Nicky was nothing if not predictable. Sam’s brain scrambled for a way to deal with his son’s behavior. Cajoling? Bribery? Discipline? Nothing much worked reliably, and he was out of ideas.

Before he could come up with a plan, Allison caught the swing and stopped Nicky. “Are you sure? ’Cause if you cooperate with your dad, I’ll give you a piggyback ride to the car.”

“Piggyback?” Nicky said.

“You bet,” Allison replied. “But you have to mind your dad, all right?”

“Okay.” Appeased, Nicky scooted out of the swing and held his arms up. “I love piggyback.”

Sam was dumbfounded.

Allison knelt. “Okay, then, Mr. Nicky.” She gestured to her back. “Climb on and maybe we can pretend I’m your horse.”

“Me, too.” Rosie clambered to her feet, smashing one of her carefully crafted sand mountains in the process. “I want a horsey piggyback, Daddy.”

“Okay, Rosie.” He knelt and crouched way down. “Get on my back and maybe we can race Miss Allison and Nicky.”

“Race!” Rosie crowed as she crawled onto his back. “I will win!”

“Yeah, we race!” Nicky squealed, clearly willing to go with the flow for something fun. Wasn’t it amazing how fast toddlers’ attention shifted when presented with entertaining options? Allison was a master at that tactic, whereas he usually just did what his own dad had done and imposed his will on them. Not that Dad was ever mean or abusive, but it had been clear who was boss in the Franklin household.