She returned to the tent for her phone. Coffee in hand, she strolled the length of the little beach and snapped photos to share with her kids—tiny crabs battling over a half-eaten fish, bubbles swirling around her toes, and a pair of sharp-eyed seagulls who stayed a few flaps ahead in case snacks might appear, not unlike her own always-hungry offspring.
With a sigh, she gazed up and down the shoreline, then back at Matteo, humming as he cracked eggs into the skillet. A smile curved her lips. Olivia and Noah would love this. They would love him.
She sucked in a bracing breath of sea air and let it take shape, the plan that had been dancing around the edge of her awareness since she awoke.
Jason had the kids every other weekend and on Wednesday nights. She’d spend that time with Matteo. If things were still looking up at the end of the summer, she would introduce him to the kids.
Icy surf washed over her toes, and a drop splashed onto her phone screen. She wiped it away, uploaded the photos, composed a quick text, and pressed Send. Nothing.
She tapped again and squinted at the screen. No bars. But a new text had arrived during the night. Olivia.
Dad and Sharla are still fighting, and her kids are total turd-wads. Can we come home?
A wave of nausea washed through her. While she’d been rolling around the tent with Matteo, her children had been trying to reach her. She tossed the coffee and sprinted back to their campsite.
Matteo stood and grinned. “Almost ready.”
“We have to go. Now.”
He dropped the spatula and grasped her arms. “Bella, what’s wrong?”
She showed him Olivia’s text. “No signal out here.” Angry tears prickled her eyes. “My kids need me, and I can’t reach them.”
“Okay, okay.” He glanced toward the surf line. “Tide will be low enough to drive through in an hour or so.”
She fixed him with a bug-eyed glare. “An hour?”
Matteo raked a hand through his bed-mussed hair, ran to the tent, and returned wearing battered canvas shoes. “Give me your phone.”
“Code’s 1829.” She slapped it into his palm, and he jogged toward the wall of boulders separating them from the main beach, calling over his shoulder, “Turn off the stove.” He scrambled up the rocks, held her phone aloft, shook his head and hollered something, but the surf swallowed his words. Picking his way carefully, he climbed higher, lifted the phone again, and flashed a thumbs-up.
Driven by pure Mama Bear adrenaline, she sprinted toward him, heedless of the sharp shells and stones jabbing her bare feet. She hoisted herself up onto the first boulder.
Matteo waved her off. “It’s too steep. Tell me what you want to say, and I’ll send a text.”
Her phone rang. Startled, she slipped and cursed as jagged barnacles ripped a gash on her shin. Blood welled and dripped.
“Bella!” He started toward her.
She stabbed a finger at him. “Answer it.”
He huffed, but he did as he was told. “Hello? She, uh, can’t come to the phone right now…A friend of your mom’s. You okay? Your brother too?”
Time slowed to a crawl as he nodded and grunted several uh-huhs. Her mind raced from one worst-case scenario to the next. Finally, he scrubbed his hand down his face. “Okay. I’ll tell her.” He tucked the phone in his hip pocket and leveled a thunderous glare. “Stay where you are. I’m coming down.”
“Matteo, damn it.” Wincing, she scooted down to the beach, ripping her shorts in the process, and limped toward the water.
He hopped onto the sand, and without saying a word, scooped her up in his arms.
“Wait. What did she say?”
“They’re boarding a plane. She’ll call you when they land,” he said through clenched teeth. “Your daughter sounds as stubborn as you.”
A flush of pride heated her cheeks.
He deposited her into a camp chair and darted to his SUV, returning with the first aid kit. She peppered him with questions while he washed her wound, then applied antiseptic ointment and a gauze bandage.
“Are they flying alone?”