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“Why is there a four-foot flamingo in my pool?” Harvey asks, nudging the inflatable with one toe like it might be contagious.
Donna strolls past him with a tray of sliced watermelon. Oversized sunglasses hide her eyes, but not the curve of her smirk. The one that means she’s about to say something ridiculous just to watch him react. “That’s Mr. Flaps,” she says matter-of-factly. “He’s the official safety bird.”
Harvey squints at her. “That’s not a real thing.”
“It is now. At least according to your son.”
Across the pool, their four-year old stands on the first step in his blue shark-print swim trunks and neon green goggles, arms sticking out like little wings thanks to the Spider-Man floaties strapped on. He’s running his fingers across the water’s surface as if memorizing its texture, shoulders hunched in concentration. Donna watches him inch forward—first to his calves, then his knees.
They started this journey about a year ago, thinking early swim classes would make him fearless. But a slip underwater during one of those classes scared him so much that even bath time became a battle. It took months to rebuild his trust—first splashing in the tub, then floating in the pool with a giant ring, then standing at the edge with floaties. And now, finally, this: one small boy, half in the water, deciding whether to take the next step.
“Daddy!” Cooper calls. “Mr. Flaps said I need swim powers first!”
Harvey arches an eyebrow at Donna.
“Well, if a flamingo said it…” she teases, lowering herself into the lounger with a grin.
Harvey sighs in mock defeat and leaps into the pool, making a splash that draws a giggle from Cooper.
When he resurfaces, his hair is slicked back from his face, accentuating the sharp angles of his features, rivulets tracing the contours of his arms, his sun-kissed skin glistening. Donna draws her bottom lip between her teeth, nibbling gently. God, he’s sexy like this—wet hair, toned muscles, that effortless magnetism. Age hasn’t softened him; if anything, it has honed him.
Her gaze lingers on the way his body cuts through the pale blue water, muscles flexing with each powerful stroke. There’s something almost indecent about the fluidity of his movements, the way his presence alone makes her skin prickle with awareness. A slow, thrilling heat coils low in her belly, her thighs pressing together as if she could stifle the reaction.
Oh, stop it. She tears her eyes away before the hunger shows on her face. Now is not the time to thirst over her husband. Yet despite herself, a soft laugh escapes.
“Alright, champ. Swim powers coming right up,” Harvey says, swimming over to the flamingo and looping an arm through its neck. “Mr. Flaps and I have been working on a new technique.” He tugs the flamingo in slow circles, humming a dramatic theme song under his breath. Then, for added flair, he makes the flamingo “nod” solemnly at Cooper, its beak bobbing.
“This, my boy, is the Flamingo of Courage dance,” Harvey announces. “Step one: Mr. Flaps blesses the pool with his wiggle.” He shakes the inflatable’s body side to side. “Step two: you touch his wing, and you instantly get super-speed kick legs. Step three: you believe it works, because everyone knows magic only works if you believe.”
Cooper’s eyes go huge behind his goggles. He takes one hesitant step forward, reaches out, and taps Mr. Flaps’s wing.
“There,” Harvey says, smiling. “Certified swim powers. Ready to try ’em out?”
The toddler-sized nod Cooper gives is exaggerated, like he’s agreeing to a very serious business deal.
Harvey approaches him with palms up. “Hold my hands.”
“Will you let go?”
“Only if you say so.”
“Swear?”
“Swear.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Cooper reaches out, his little fingers curling tightly around his father’s.
“Okay, kiddo. Let’s start simple,” Harvey says. “I’ll hold you. You kick your legs. Got it?”
Cooper’s kicks send a tidal wave straight into Harvey’s face. Then, with impressive accuracy, a second splash soaks Donna’s sundress. She yelps, sitting bolt upright as water drips down her collarbone. Harvey slicks back his hair, eyes locked on the way the fabric clings to her chest.
“Well, that’s not how I pictured you getting wet today, but I’ll take it.”
Donna flicks water at him, grinning. But before she can respond, a faint cry comes from the baby monitor beside the lounger. “Perfect timing, as always,” she murmurs. She disappears inside, and a few minutes later, the screen door slides open again. This time, she steps out in a sleek navy swimsuit, a yellow sunburst towel slung over one arm and their one-year-old balanced on her hip.
“Look at you,” Harvey says with a low whistle. “Ready to join the pool party?”
“That depends,” Donna says, dropping the towel and lowering Maddy into a bright little baby float with a sun canopy. “Is this party BYO flamingo?”
As if on cue, the giant pink inflatable drifts lazily toward them. Donna snorts, slipping into the pool beside Maddy. With a gentle nudge, she sends the float bobbing toward the baby’s big brother, cradled in Harvey’s arms for a quiet moment of rest. Cooper's eyes light up instantly at the sight of his sister.
“Maddy!”
Without thinking, he slips out of Harvey’s grasp and pushes away from him. His kicks are wild and uneven, splashing more than propelling, but Harvey’s hands are there instantly, steadying him without taking over.
“You’re doing it!” Harvey cheers. “You’re swimming, Cooper!”
Cooper’s grin is so wide it pushes his goggles halfway up his forehead, as he flings himself the last few inches toward Donna. She catches him under the arms and lifts him high into the air, his legs kicking reflexively as water rains down on both of them.
“You did it, baby!” she laughs, planting a kiss against his damp temple. “You did it!” Her voice cracks slightly with pride. She pulls him close again, nuzzling her nose into his hair—warm from the sun, smelling faintly of sunscreen and chlorine—before holding him back at arm’s length to take him in. “My big boy.”
Over his shoulder, she catches Harvey playing with Madelyn, wiggling her tiny feet in the water, then splashing her gently so that she squeals in that bright, hiccupy baby laugh.
“You wanna go again?” Donna asks, brushing a wet curl away from Cooper’s cheek. “Swim to Daddy and Maddy?”
“Yes!” Cooper says immediately, bouncing in her arms like he might start swimming right through her. She lets him go, and he paddles back toward Harvey with quick, eager kicks, the water parting in tiny waves.
Feeling just a bit theatrical—the excitement is clearly getting to her—Donna swings herself up onto the flamingo and settles into a lounging sprawl. “Observe the grace,” she announces, floating past her family like a parade float in slow motion. “The Flamingo Queen has arrived.”
“You’re showing off,” Harvey says in a mock growl, still half-turned toward the baby. But damn if he doesn’t love this side of her—the actress, the drama, the way she can basically turn anything, even a pool float, into a performance. It’s sexy as hell.
“I’m inspiring,” she insists.
“You’re going to flip that thing.”
Donna leans back, sunglasses sliding into place. “Please. I am one with the flamingo.”
Cooper’s giggles bubble up as he makes a sloppy splash in her direction. “Mommy! I want to ride it too!”
“First, you swim to me,” she decrees, pointing a royal finger. “Flamingo Queen’s orders.”
And he does—not perfectly, not fast, but without stopping, his little strokes getting surer and braver with every try. By the time he reaches her, she’s grinning so hard her cheeks hurt.
Later that evening, the air has cooled just enough to make the oversized hoodie Donna wears feel like a warm hug. The baby monitor sits on the side table, broadcasting the occasional soft sigh from Madelyn asleep inside. A small fire crackles in the stone pit near the back deck.
Harvey drops another log onto the flames, the wood popping as he brushes his hands together with exaggerated satisfaction, like he just wrestled a bear into submission.
Donna raises an eyebrow. “Did you just grunt like you started that with flint and sheer will?”
“I’m embracing the setting,” Harvey replies, plopping down beside her on the outdoor loveseat. “There’s fire. There’s s’mores. I should be wearing flannel.”
“Why aren’t you wearing flannel?” she teases, resting her elbow on the back cushion.
He gives her a look somewhere between disbelief and amusement. “Are you serious?”
“It would perfect the look.”
“What look?”
“The dad look.”
“Oh, the dad look,” Harvey repeats with mock reverence, chuckling. “So next time I chop firewood, I’ll do it wearing flannel?”
Donna tilts her head, smiling as she nestles into the crook of his neck, breathing in the faint scent of smoke clinging to him. “You’d pull it off,” she murmurs.
He smirks. “Good to know.”
She tips her head back just enough to meet his eyes, the firelight catching in them. “And maybe… skip the flannel entirely.”
A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest as he leans in, pressing his forehead to hers. “Dangerous suggestion, Mrs. Specter.”
Their lips meet in a slow, easy kiss. The kind that says they have nowhere to be, nothing else to do but enjoy the moment.
Across from them, Cooper is fast asleep, bundled in a fluffy towel on the lounger. His hair is still damp, little tufts sticking to his forehead, and at the corner of his mouth clings a tiny smear of marshmallow. His head rests against the flamingo’s curved neck like it’s the most natural pillow in the world, one small arm draped lazily over its pink side.
Harvey’s mouth twitches into a smile at the sight—partly at Cooper, partly at the ridiculous bird. “Still hate that thing,” he murmurs.
Donna grins. “You love it.”
“I tolerate it. Like Louis.”
“Liar,” she counters, kissing his cheek. “You’re already picturing Mr. Flaps in the Christmas card.”
He huffs a laugh, eyes returning to their son. “Look at him, Donna. He’s out cold.”
“He earned it,” she says softly, leaning forward to straighten his towel like she’s tucking him in for the night. “He swam, he splashed, he conquered Mr. Flaps.”
Harvey smirks. “I haven’t seen him that proud of something since he beat me at Go Fish.”
“You let him win.”
“I did not let him win. The kid bluffed me. It was impressive.”
Donna smiles, then rests her head on his shoulder. The firelight flickers across Cooper’s sleeping face, turning his lashes gold.
“Should I carry him in?” Harvey asks quietly.
“In a minute.”
She lets her gaze linger on their son. A smaller, softer version of the man beside her. The resemblance is almost unfair. God, she thinks, can a heart actually burst from happiness?
“He’s perfect, Harvey,” she whispers, voice thick with emotion. “Just perfect.”
Harvey turns his head, brushing a gentle kiss against her temple. His fingers thread through hers, thumb tracing the curve of her knuckles. “Just like his mother.”
Donna gives a small, flustered laugh and reaches up to cup his cheek, coaxing his gaze back to hers.
“Who would’ve thought that his sister was the key to—”
She doesn’t let him finish. Instead, she closes the space between them, pressing her lips to his in a long, tender kiss—with enough force to draw a low moan from him when they part.
“Are we trying again tomorrow?” Harvey asks.
“I thought we were done having babies?”
The look on his face makes her laugh so hard she nearly wakes their son. Cooper stirs in his sleep but doesn’t open his eyes, his arm still looped lazily around Mr. Flaps. When Harvey’s gaze returns to her, she’s full-on smirking.
“Relax, old man. I’m messing with you. I meant another swim lesson. Maybe tomorrow will be even better.”
“Look who you’re calling old,” Harvey says, feigning offense. “Like I didn’t notice you staring at my… extraordinarily sexy physique.”
“I’m allowed to,” she coos. “You’re my husband.”
“And…” He kisses her. “You’re my wife.” Another kiss. “Which means I’m obligated to fulfill all your fantasies.”
“Is that so?” She arches an eyebrow.
“Mhm,” he hums. “Starting with chopping wood naked.” A beat. “But that’s for another day. Tonight, I just want to sit here and watch our boy sleep.”
Donna’s smirk softens instantly into something tender, her heart catching at the shift in his tone. This is what she loves about them—how they can move from teasing to quiet affection in a heartbeat, how he still manages to surprise her after all these years.
With a contented sigh, she lays her head back on his shoulder, their arms linked. “Me too,” she whispers.
The fire crackles softly, filling the comfortable silence. They sit there for a long while, watching the stars appear above them one by one, as their little boy drifts deeper into sleep, carrying the glow of his first real summer memory.