I frown. “Why?”

“Have you seen your boyfriend?”

Yes, I think. I saw a lot of him this morning after he dropped Oliver off at school. I’ll never be able to look at his shower the same way again.

Erica glances over my shoulder at a group of ladies gathered on the sidewalk. There’s not a lot to monitoring the chalk station, and they’re staring in Latson’s general direction.

“The one on the far right, Natalie Spencer, she’s Max’s mom,” Erica says. “She’s been after your man since she got divorced last year. And the one in the middle?  Jackie O’Rourke?  She’s been eyeing him since Oliver first started at this school.”

She’s serious. “They really talk about him?”

Erica nods. “I’m surprised he’s not a permanent agenda item. The PTA meetings usually start out like an episode of Cougar Town.”

I laugh. I wonder if Latson knows.

Speaking of, out of the corner of my eye, I catch him walking my way. He grabs the bottom of his shirt and wipes his forehead with it, earning a collective gasp from the chalk moms. I stifle another laugh. I’m tempted to tell him he’s the PTA hottie.

He makes his way over to me with a smile. “Can I get a water?”

“Sure.” I open a cooler under the table marked for volunteers. I hand him a bottle and watch a bead of sweat roll down his temple before I brush it away. “I’m glad I got the job in the shade.”

“Lucky.” He smirks before downing half the bottle. “I’m surprised how bad little kids shoes stink in the heat.” He makes a face, then looks down. “How are your feet?”

I look at my exposed toes in my flip flops. “They don’t smell.”

“I meant are they cold,” he says. “You’re getting on a plane in a few hours.”

“I know,” I sigh. “It’s hard to believe I’ll be in L.A .tonight.”

The past week has flown by so fast my nerves haven’t been able to keep up. It’s been both a blessing and a curse: while I haven’t had a chance to be anxious, I know, sooner or later, reality is going to bite me in the ass. I’ve been going through the motions to make sure I stay busy, so I won’t second guess my decision. Keep working: check. Spend time with Pete and Jules: check. Try to learn Dean’s songs: check. Try to pack everything I own: check. Spend quality time with Latson: check. And last, but not least, attend Oliver’s picnic.

Check.

“Yoo-hoo!  Lat-son!”

I look to my right and see Natalie wave as she comes over. When she makes it to us she flashes a perfect, white smile. “Sorry for interrupting, but I’ve been meaning to ask ... who are you requesting for Oliver’s teacher next year?  It’s a toss-up between Littlejohn and Hunter for Max.”

She bats her eyelashes and I take in her denim capris, flowy tank, and cute wedges. Her brown hair is layered in a trendy cut, and she looks like she could be in her late thirties.

“I’ll let the school decide,” Latson responds. “He’s a little young to have a preference, I think.”

“But he’ll want to be with his friends.” She lets out a tittering laugh. “Max and Oliver are like two peas in a pod.”

They are?  I glance at Latson and recognize the knowing gleam in his eye. He can tell she’s flirting. “He talks about a lot of kids,” he says. “I’m sure some of them are bound to be in his class.”

Natalie shrugs and moves closer. “It doesn’t hurt to be sure. I can submit the form to the office for you. It would only take a few seconds. I could also sign him up for t-ball with Max for the summer. We could carpool. What do you say?”

Latson gives me a wide-eyed look, as if saying, “Can you believe this?” A snicker gets caught in my throat, and I cover it with a fake cough.

He takes another drink of water, then leans in to give me a wet kiss on the cheek. “I’d better get back.” He looks at Natalie. “I think we’re all set, but thank you.”

His tone indicates he’s talking about more than class selection and sports. He winks at me then walks away, finishing his water as he goes. When the bottle is empty, he shoots it like a basketball at a nearby recycling container. It goes in.

Natalie turns to me, her shocked expression full of questions. “You know him?”

I give her a sweet smile. “Yes.”

The top of her ears turn pink. “Well, I … I … didn’t realize.” She stiffens her spine and holds out her hand. “Natalie Spencer, PTA president. You are?”

“Jen Elliott.” I shake her hand. “Girlfriend.”

She nods, then turns on her heel and walks away, struggling to keep a slow pace back to the other moms. I look at Erica and she laughs. “You should have seen her face when he kissed you. No amount of Botox could have hid that reaction.”

I shake my head. This is the last place I expected women to vie for Latson’s attention. Torque and the gym I understand. But an elementary school?

My thoughts are interrupted when the kids in front of us start to leave. Per my instructions, I round the front of our table and hold out a container of disinfecting wipes for them to take as they walk by. Behind me, Erica grabs another stack of plastic cups. “Ready to make some more slop?”

“Ready as ever,” I say.

By the end of the afternoon, the kids are tired, sticky, and sunburned.  Oliver says goodbye to his teacher and his friends, and the three of us head to Latson’s car for my trip to the airport. Since I have to be there early to get through security, we decided to leave straight from the picnic. After shutting the car door, I turn around to look at O in the backseat. “Did you have a good time?”

“Yes!”  He grins. “I did so many flips in the bounce house I almost threw up!”

My face contorts. “Gross. That doesn’t sound like fun to me.”

He giggles. “Uncle Gunnar?  Can Donovan spend the night?  He wants to come over and his mom said maybe.”

“Not tonight, buddy,” Latson says as we leave the school. “After we take Jen to the airport we’re going to dinner, remember?”

“Oh, yeah!”  Oliver looks excited. “We’re going to Medieval Times.”

“What’s Medieval Times?” I ask.

“It’s where you eat with your hands, and there are knights and horses. They have battles right in front of you.”

“That sounds much better than puking,” I say. “Make sure you take pictures and send them to me.”

“I will. Uncle Gunnar?  Can I use your phone?”

Latson’s eyes find Oliver in the rearview mirror. “Sure, dude.” He looks at me. “You might get a bunch of blurry texts later.”

I smile. “I look forward to it.”

Latson pulls away from the school, and we discuss Oliver’s summer vacation plans. Along with more aquarium time, he’d like to visit the zoo, go swimming, see his buddies, and have more Nerf wars, for which he says he’ll need some sort of new gun.

“You have forty guns,” Latson says. “That’s enough.”

“You’re lying,” Oliver’s little voice accuses. “I have eighteen; I counted. You have more guitars than anything and you don’t even play with all of them.”

My eyes grow wide and swing to Latson. This is the most attitude I’ve ever heard from O. “I think you just got told by a second grader.”

He smirks. “He’s not a second grader yet.”

“Am, too,” Oliver interjects.

“We’ll see once I get your report card,” Latson says.

Their back and forth banter is sweet, and a pang of sadness hits. I’m going to miss this over the next few months. I’d love to take O to the zoo or to the beach. We never did get to the park to play in the fountains. Suddenly, I want more time. I stare out the window and swallow.

We pull into O’Hare International Airport, and Latson finds a parking space. Dean is supposed to meet us inside, along with Pete and Jules. I grab my guitar, swinging the case over my head and shoulder, and then my carry-on bag. Latson pulls my two suitcases from the trunk. I’m only working with what I brought to Chicago, so there wasn’t much to pack. As we make our way to the crosswalk to head to the terminal, Oliver decides he wants to help. Latson lets him drag one of my bags, and the sight is too freaking cute. Maybe I’m being overly sentimental, but I let the boys walk ahead of me so I can take a picture.