The Sweetest September. Liz Talley

little spy.

      Shelby chuckled and craned her neck to see if she could make out who the child watched with such fascination. Out of the corner of her eye she saw someone plunge into a lap pool. Someone naked. Not just naked...but tight male ass naked.

      Whoa. Birdie wasn’t just spying—she was a peeping, uh, Birdie. So what to do about that?

      This was a child and a naked dude. A responsible adult would find Abigail and squeal. But maybe not yet. Maybe she needed to know more. Something about the girl’s pluck and natural curiosity carved a tender place in Shelby’s heart. Had to be hard having a mother like Abigail. Again, teacher Spidey sense blipped and she decided to track down Birdie later to suggest she not spy on naked dudes in their lap pool no matter how nice the view was.

      “Shelby?”

      She jerked around to find Abigail standing at the head of the stairs holding a tray. John’s sister wore her hair pulled back into a knot, a deep blue sweater and the same flats from the evening before. She looked like a librarian catching someone making out in the stacks.

      “Oh, hey,” Shelby said, turning with hopefully a nonguilty smile. “Just checking out the, uh, view.”

      Abigail snorted. “No view out that window. I fought like the devil trying to preserve this historical area, but I didn’t win. They built that subdivision last fall. I tried to fence them out and mask the sounds of a busy neighborhood with the water feature out back.”

      Shelby moved toward her room, abandoning her own spying on the very interesting Birdie. “Well, my view’s lovely and I didn’t hear anything.”

      “I’m lucky most of the rooms face the woods on either side of the house. I haven’t had trouble, but I would have preferred the solitude.” Abigail set the tray on the bedside table. “Nice socks.”

      Shelby lifted her foot and wiggled the One Direction socks. “I feel cool, but maybe I’ll leave them for Birdie.”

      “Don’t bother. She thinks boy bands are stupid...and boys are disgusting.”

      Yeah. Right. “Well, she’s only...eight or nine?”

      “Try twelve,” Abigail said with a smile. “A little small for her age.”

      Twelve? Shelby thought she had stretched it by suggesting eight. Of course, Shelby didn’t know a lot about elementary-aged kids. Neither of her siblings had procreated, professing no urge to overpopulate the earth—something about the ozone layer and stretch marks. And by the time students hit high school and Shelby’s desks, most had gone through puberty.

      “I brought you some oatmeal, a soft boiled egg and dry toast. John said you were sick or something and I didn’t know if you wanted anything rich. I have some Bananas Foster French toast if you’d rather that?”

      Oh, yum. Shelby’s stomach growled...but then she thought about the diet guidelines in her healthy pregnancy books. Maybe something low fat and easy on her stomach would be a good idea. “This is fine. Thank you.”