8. Chapter 8

Rachel

The next morning, Sig comes over bright and early and keeps me from burning the eggs and setting the toast on fire. Breakfast is a blast. The kids no longer hate me, and everything goes as smoothly as the butter we spread on Sig's perfectly golden slices of toast.

I'm convinced the man can do anything until I find out he can't drive. His cheeks flush an adorable pink as he admits he doesn't have his license. And he still seems a little flustered as I maneuver Ada's old van out of the driveway and drop the kids off at school.

The old clunker doesn't have Bluetooth, so Sig takes charge of the radio. And since the A/C doesn't work, we roll down our windows to keep cool. Both are a pain, and I add a vehicle upgrade to the top of my mental list of things I plan to save up for once I find work.

I can't blame the van for how torturous the drive is. That's all Sig's fault.

My traitorous hands long to touch the man sitting next to me, and I hold on to the steering wheel like a lifeline, so I don't do something I regret. But how am I supposed to resist his just-rolled-out-of-bed hair or those tanned, muscular biceps? It's like he's begging to be touched. I long to squeeze his muscular thigh and run my hand up… up… up… until…

I gulp and grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white.

As the week goes on, driving with a temptation of a man like Sig gets increasingly more difficult. And the kisses definitely don't help. We sneak them in every chance we get—before the kids are up, after they go to bed, and everywhere in between—each one more toe-curling than the last.

The urge to forget about being a responsible adult and hook up with the man grows. But I constantly remind myself that the kids come first. I need to focus all my energy on getting my life together… and job applications aren't going to send themselves.

Sig convinces me to work on my resume at Rubber Duckie World, on a pool-side duckie desk. It's surprisingly comfortable, and the giant, bright-yellow parasol provides some much-needed shade, so my laptop doesn't overheat.

I spend each morning looking for jobs while trying not to ogle Sig. He's completely in his element, whether he's training staff, directing the crew filming promotional material, or setting up for Sunday's rubber duckie race.

At lunch time, we hit a few of the rides, starting with my all-time favorite: Quack Attack. Then we head over to Duckie Diner to sample Reaper's mouthwatering, duck-themed creations. The guy's a genius in the kitchen and a genuinely great guy, so it comes to me as no surprise that he and Sig have been lifelong friends.

Over lunch, I learn that they grew apart when Reaper got married to a horrible-sounding woman, and then reconnected after the divorce. I also find out that Reaper's real name is Rupert—though I'm sworn to secrecy under threat of a lifetime Duckie Diner ban—and I also learn what Sig is short for.

"Sigvart," I repeat when he tells me. "I like that."

He grins. "It's actually my middle name, after Grandad."

"The duckie collector?"

Sig nods. "I idolized him as a kid—still do. And William doesn't suit me."

I'm inclined to agree.

We talk a bit more about Sig's grandad and his childhood in a small town compared to mine in the big city. I tell him about college, and when he asks about my ring, I explain that Ada got it as a high school graduation present for Janey, and that she left it for me in her will along with her kids. Then we lighten the mood and compare our past jobs—mine aboard cruise ships, and Sig's at various amusement parks.

By Wednesday morning, we've settled into a routine, which gets broken up when the principal pulls me aside. But instead of more lectures and veiled threats, she admits she was wrong.

"She said she misjudged me. And she thinks I'm doing a great job with the kids," I gush as I settle behind the wheel. "And she's glad they've got me. Can you believe it?"

"Of course I can." Sig places a hand over mine. "You are doing a great job with them, Rachel. And they're lucky to have you. We all are!"

I'm still thinking about his words when we pick up the kids after school, cook dinner—all Sig, since I can't follow a recipe to save my life—and grab water guns so we can chase each other around the back yard, shouting and laughing until the sun sets.

On Thursday night—after another perfect day with Sig and the kids—it rains, so we decide to have a living room dance party, complete with a half-pineapple, half-sane pizza. And when the kids start fighting over music, Sig intervenes, mediates, and keeps the peace. He helps with bedtime, and once the kids are asleep, we slow dance the night away.

I almost ask him to spend the night. Almost. But it's a terrible idea, so I fall asleep on the couch alone, dreaming of being pressed up against Sig's hard chest, his powerful arms wrapped around me and his hot lips on mine.

Friday morning brings sunshine, clear skies, and drenched panties. I take care of myself in the shower, try not to blush while Sig and I make breakfast, and go upstairs to wake up the kids. I keep my hands to myself during school drop-off, but the moment we get to Rubber Duckie World, he pulls me into his arms and kisses me like he's drowning and I'm air.

When we pull apart, I'm breathless and every one of my reservations melts away.

"I have something to show you." Sig takes my hand and guides me toward a quiet area of the park. We stop in front of a locked gate, and he punches in the security code. 382543. "Welcome to my personal section of the park. I built it for whenever I need to get away and be alone. No one else is allowed through here."

I peer past the fence, but from my vantage point, all I see is a winding path. "Do you want to be alone?"

"Yes," he says, and my heart sinks. "With you."

I can't help but smile as he leads me inside. "So what's through here?"

"Lazy river, a pool, and a giant personal bathtub. With a hundred and fifty custom rubber duckies."

His eyes light up when he mentions his collection, but my mind is as far away from duckies as it can get. "You have a giant bathtub?"

"Filled with bubbles and duckies."

"One hundred and fifty duckies," I can't help but tease.

"Only fifty are in the tub. There are seventy-five in the lazy river and ten in the pool. The other fifteen are extra-large duckies for lounging. There are four by the pool, four by the hot tub, and seven along the river."

The fact that the man has an exact duckie count is kind of endearing. "I wish I had something I was as passionate about as you are about duckies."

Sig pauses mid-step. "You don't?"

I shake my head. "I would have mentioned it if I had."

We resume walking in silence. Sig leads me toward the pool, tosses his shirt on the hot concrete and kicks off his flip-flops. My eyes are glued to his abs and the trail of hair leading into his swim trunks when he adds, "There has to be something."

"Huh?"

"Your duckie thing."

"I really don't have one."

He frowns and dives into the crystal-clear water, but by the time he rests his forearms on the edge, he's grinning. "Come on in. The water's perfect."

I pull my sundress over my head to reveal my pink bikini, unbuckle the cute sandals I got on a day trip in Costa Rica, and dive in.

The water is cold and refreshing. I get used to it by the time I surface and float up to Sig, feeling relaxed and happy.

"You must have a duckie thing," he says. "Everyone does." When I frown, he adds, "Not necessarily a collection like mine. Just that one thing that means more to you than anything else."

I think of the kids. Of the man in the water next to me. Of Ada. "Family."

"Family doesn't count," Sig says instantly. Like he doesn't even have to think about it. Like no one will ever matter to him as much as his duckies.

"Of course, family counts!"

"I didn't mean it like that. Family always comes first."

"I hear a but in there somewhere…"

"There isn't." He runs a hand through his hair, which is more brown than blond now that it's wet.

Despite my annoyance with him, I'm drawn to the man like a kid to a water slide. I long to run my fingers through his drenched locks, trace them along his chiseled jawline, and pull him in for a kiss.

"Rachel…" The way he says my name, his voice filled with emotion, makes my heart race. "I'd give this place up in a heartbeat for the people I love."

My heart skips a beat and then starts racing double-time.

He doesn't mean me, I remind myself. He doesn't love me.

We've barely known each other for a week. It's too soon. We're just two neighbors who are getting to know each other, with make-out sessions in between. We haven't even had sex.

And yet every part of me wants this man to say that I matter more to him than the duckies surrounding us.

He lets go of the pool's edge and treads water. "What if you had to pick one thing that you love most, but you couldn't pick people?"

I tread water too. "You're really not going to drop this one, are you?"

Sig smiles sheepishly. "It's important."

"Okay. Fine. Cruise ships."

"Full size or collectibles?"

"The kind that can take me places…" I say, and instantly feel guilty because cruising is the reason why I wasn't there for the kids all these years. I grab the edge of the pool again. "Look, Sig. I get that collecting duckies is important to you, but I don't plan on collecting cruise ships or anything else." I plan on getting a steady job and taking care of Noah, Anna, and Lisa.

"That's what I'm worried about." Sig slides below the water's surface and then resurfaces with a splash.

I frown. "Worried? Why?"

He purses his lips.

In the week that I've known him, there's been a palpable connection between us. Each moment, each conversation… everything between us has felt right… until now.

Sig seems to realize it, too, because his expression turns serious. "Rachel, we need to talk."

A heavy feeling settles in my gut. Everyone knows there's only one reason a man would ever say ‘we need to talk.' Sig is breaking up with me!

Not that we're actually together. We were just getting to know each other.

My heart doesn't seem to care.

It doesn't make sense. Why does Sig care that I don't collect duckies or cruise ships or whatnot?

Maybe it's not about collecting things. Maybe he's finally realized that he's got his life together, and I don't. He owns an entire water park, and I don't even have a job. But he's the one who made me realize that I don't need those things. And now he's dumping me over it? Seriously?

At least it's happening now, after a week, before I got really invested in us. But then why does it hurt so much?

I'm no stranger to being dumped. One time, the guy I'd been seeing did it in bed, while we were both still naked. Sig and I haven't even had sex. I shouldn't care!

So then why does this feel different? Why does being with Sig feel different?

Don't cry, Rachel. You barely know each other!

But in my heart, it feels like we've known each other forever… Like we're two parts of a whole who fit together to become one.

I want to be one with Sig. I want him naked. I want him in my life. I want him forever.

My eyes widen as the realization slams into me like a wave. Somehow, in the span of a week, without even sleeping together, I've managed to fall in love with Sig.

And I'm about to get my heart shattered into a million pieces…