Molly gazes mournfully at the bikini laid out across the suitcase. Rain pounds against the windows, and she sighs. “Sweater it is.”
Seb’s in the kitchen frying eggs, and Jim is sprawled across the couch reading a hideously boring looking book. Molly sits on him.
“We agreed no work. We’re at the beach, Jamie! It’s time to relax and enjoy life.”
“I was enjoying life, until a horrible person came and sat on me,” he pouts.
Molly leans over and kisses his nose. “Sorry, darling.”
“Would you two stop being sickening?” Seb grouses.
“Come join us if you’re jealous, Sebastian,” Jim says, stretching out under Molly’s weight.
“Someone has to provide for you two,” he responds, dishing eggs out onto three plates.
Molly hops up and goes to get hers, kissing Seb in thanks. “You’re the best.”
He flaps a spatula at her and frowns, but the tips of his ears turn pink with pleasure.
“So, plans for the day,” says Jim, as they eat their breakfast.
“Well we can’t go down to the beach,” Molly sighs, “not in this weather.”
Jim and Seb exchange a look that Molly barely catches.
“What? What’s going on?”
Jim grins slightly, and refuses to answer, even after Molly chases him around the tiny cottage. She was about to have him trapped in a corner when he unexpectedly launched himself forwards instead of away and she finds herself on her back with an armful of triumphant Irishman. Which leads to an armful of snickering Englishman, and well, what with one thing and another, it’s a while before she remembers what started the whole mess in the first place.
“What was that look about earlier?”
“What look?” Jim asks, all false innocence.
She turns to Seb, but he flops over on the carpet, feigning sleep.
“I’ll figure it out, you know,” she warns. “I am the smart one in this relationship.”
Jim lets that comment pass which is suspicious in and of itself, and pulls her close to cuddle.
Molly wakes up later in the bed. The rain is still falling heavily. She stretches and rolls out of bed. Her sweater and jeans are somewhere in the living room, so she pulls on some of Jim’s and pads out to find her boys.
“Ah, Molly dearest!” Jim says with a jaunty wave. “Put on your bathing suit and come join us.”
She freezes in the doorway to the living room, absolutely stunned. There’s a sizeable pile of sand and three beach chairs have been positioned in it. There’s also a large striped umbrella and a bucket and spade. Jim and Seb are sprawled out in the two side chairs in swim trunks and sunglasses, sipping on fruity drinks.
“Don’t just stand there, come on. Your drink is getting warm.”
“You are ridiculous, and perfect, and I love you,” she exclaims, kissing them both and darting away to change into her suit.
She settles into the middle chair, and digs her toes into the sand. “I’m going to keep enjoying this, obviously,” she says, taking a long sip of the delicious punch, “but how are you planning to get rid of the sand when we’re done?”
“It’s a beach house,” Jim says simply. “They’ve got to expect a little sand to get in.”
