Chapter Text
“Alright Lilah, you’re doing so good! C’mon, Max, kick those legs buddy! Great job, Henry!”
You call out from the side of the pool, watching your determined students make their way down the lane on their little kick boards. It was late May, which meant swim lessons were in full swing at the neighborhood community center, and you’d applied to be an instructor. It wasn’t like you were an Olympic swimmer or anything, but you knew enough and you were CPR certified. Apparently that’s all the center was looking for, and now you were in charge of the 8-10 year old group.
“That’s it for today you guys. You did amazing!”
You lean over the edge with your arm out, holding on to the starting block so you can get low enough for the kiddos to each give you a high five. You didn’t have a very big class, really. Around here, most kids learned to swim pretty early—some even started from birth. It was just the thing to do, living by the ocean. Most of the older kids who needed lessons were either late bloomers or had moved from different areas of the country, their parents having business in and around LA.
It was a good bunch this year. Only six kids, but they were keen listeners and eager to learn. None of them were scared of the water, which saved a lot of time when it came to getting them doggy paddling around. They’d already been with you for three weeks, the program a bit more intensive than the normal casual classes other parents put their kids in, instead borderlining on swim practice . Your lessons hinged on teaching the kids actual swim techniques; to get them to learn the correct way to do everything instead of just learning how not to drown.
“Good cool down everyone. The pool is open for free swim as long as your parents say yes.”
You sit down on the edge, legs dangling in the water as you help each of your students out of the pool, hauling them onto the deck. The indoor area echoed with the voices of families and other swimmers, the sounds of splashing water and laughter creating a cacophony of noise. The giant room was mildly humid—smelled like chlorine. You wished idly that you could be at the outside pool, but the schedule flip-flopped. One week swim lessons were outside and aerobics inside, one week it was the opposite, and so-on.
The kids scamper off to their respective adults, careful not to run after being yelled at one too many times by the lifeguard on duty. You smile, getting up to stand, collecting your goggles and clipboard. Adjusting your suit from where it had ridden up while you were sitting, you turn from your place at the pool’s edge and walk over to the group of parents and nannies sitting together on fold-out beach chairs. You talk to them for a little while, mostly verifying that June’s class schedule would be the same and any changes would be sent through text and email.
Eventually the area empties out, students either leaving or going to the other side of the pool where the lanes ended and there was room to play around. Only Henry is left behind, sitting alone on a chair, his chin resting in his hand. You frown, making your way over to him.
“Henry? Where’s your mom?”
It was unlike Nicole to be late. She was always there right on time—more often than not in her own suit, ready to play with Henry as soon as class ended. Henry looks up at you, shakes his head. “My Dad’s picking me up today. He’s in the water. I tried to get his attention but he couldn't hear me.”
Your frown only deepens at Henry’s words, and you follow his gaze to the lane at the far end of the pool. There was a solitary swimmer doing laps, strong arms pulling their large body through the water. You point, brows arched at Henry in question, and he nods. You withhold a sigh. “Alright bud, I’ll go get him.”
You didn’t really like interrupting people from their work out but c’mon dude, your kid’s sitting all by himself! By the time you get to the end of the lane, he’s on the other side, so you have to wait for him to come back towards you. He moves through the water easily, at a slow, leisurely pace. He isn’t frantic like some of the other people doing laps, obviously isn’t in any sort of hurry. You notice that thankfully, he’s not doing any flipturns—you really didn’t feel like trying to grab hold of his ankle.
When his hand comes up to touch the wall in front of you, you reach out to grab at it. He glides away from you easily, but clearly feels your touch because he stops short in the water, jerking up to look at you. He squints at you through his goggles before shoving them up onto his forehead, revealing a pair of warm brown eyes. The skin around them was rimmed red where the goggles had indented his pale skin.
“Are you Henry Barber’s Dad?” You ask him, your tone just a little bit curt. As if on cue, Henry appears at your side, climbing up on top of the starting block and sitting down. The man in the water looks from you, to Henry, and back again.
“Yes, is something wrong?”
“Swim practice is over, Sir.”
His eyes widen, and he pulls one of his arms out of the water to look at the watch on his wrist. He has to shove away the dripping hair that was stuck to his face, but apparently he realizes the time because he looks back up at his son as he treads water. “ Henry , you said 2:30!”
Henry shrugs, as if he neither cared nor remembered what time he’d told his father the lesson was over. You step away as the man in the water swims to the edge of the pool.
“I’m so sorry. I had my timer set, I just thought it ended later.”
His apology makes your irritation fade a little. You saw a lot of parents haul their kids in and out of here, trying to dump them off wherever they could so they didn’t have to deal with them. You can admit you may have jumped to conclusions about Mr. Barber; just because he wasn’t Nicole didn’t mean he wasn’t paying attention to his son.
You watch as the man ducks his head underwater, coming up with his goggles in one hand and the other slicking his wet, shaggy hair back. Doing so reveals a long neck leading up to a pair of big ears that stuck out from his head a little—they matched his prominent nose, but not in a bad way. You thought it was an oddly handsome mix of features.
He reaches up to the starting block, handing Henry his goggles. The boy takes them obediently before climbing back down to the ground. You give him a small smile, but you get distracted again—this time by the sight of Mr. Barber planting his large hands on the concrete pool ledge and hauling himself up, water cascading down his body in rivulets.
He climbs out easily, somehow graceful for someone so hulking. You look him over as he emerges, your stomach doing a weird funny dance that you really wish it wouldn’t. He had big feet, connecting to trim calves and large thighs. His shorts left little to the imagination with the way they were plastered to his skin, but they weren’t necessarily revealing —maybe you were just imagining a little too much. His torso was broad and strong, a little soft round the middle but in a way where you just knew there was plenty of muscle under that small bit of cushion.
Firm pecs and arms, stark collarbones—there were droplets of water settling in the delicate hollow of his throat. You blink, tearing your gaze away from them, face burning as your brain tells you to lick them away. Fuck , what was wrong with you?
Then that angular face, endearing ears, strong nose, beauty marks--and plush lips that were now turned up into a friendly smile. You’re quick to return the expression, hoping you don’t look as ridiculous as you feel. Shit , he was hot. Henry’s dad was hot.
“Can you go get my towel, honey?” His voice shakes you out of it, and you watch as Henry moseys over to their bags. Mr. Barber clears his throat before holding out his hand for you to shake. When you do, his palm practically engulfs yours, his long fingers sliding over your wrist. You blink at them, then at him. In the back of your mind your subconscious supplies one single coherent thought: no wedding ring .
“I’m Charlie,” he introduces himself, brown eyes alight, “I’m so sorry again. I’ll get the schedule right next time.”
“It’s no worries. Mistakes happen,” you hear yourself saying, as if you weren’t just ready to chew him out not two minutes ago. “Will you be picking him up regularly?”
Charlie nods, looking over when Henry comes back with a towel. He ruffles his son’s hair in thanks before wrapping the towel around his shoulders. You can’t help but be just a little disappointed to see all his bare skin leave your gaze.
“Yeah, I’ll be bringing him and picking him up. I’ve been in New York for business, but I’m back for the time being. Nicole’s schedule changed so she won’t be able to drive him. Hopefully I can use the free time to do laps.”
You nod. You’re nodding a lot actually. Maybe you should stop.
“Okay, sounds good! I mean, just let me know if anything changes. I don’t have you on the roster so you won’t have my number but Nicole does. I can—If you’d like I can give you the contact list for everyone.”
“I’d appreciate that, thanks.”
You nod— again —and turn to go back over to your things, grabbing your clipboard. You can hear Henry and Charlie talking as they follow you; they seem to be discussing what to have for a late lunch. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself for super-hot-dripping-wet-man before you make your way to where they were picking up their bags.
“So I have everyone’s information here but I only laminated enough sheets for the parents I had on the roster.” You wince, apologetic, but Charlie shrugs it off.
“Oh, that’s understandable. I can probably get everything from Nicole.”
“I can just give you my number and send everything to you,” you respond, unthinking. Charlie looks at you, head cocked to the side, a small little smile of amusement quirking his lips up. You backtrack, trying not to speak too fast.
“I mean, all the parents have my number, so! It's not a big deal, I can just give it to you now and send everything through text—do you text? Email works too.” Nice save , you chastise yourself.
Charlie nods, that little smirk still on his face, like he’s been humored. He digs into his bag before pulling out his phone, rubbing his hands on his towel before plucking in the code. “Okay, I’m ready.”
You recite your number to him and he saves it quickly before taking another look at his watch.
“ Shit , Henry, we gotta go, your mom said you need to be at your cousins' house by 3:30.” He glances back at you, looking slightly apologetic. “I’ll see you next time—ends at 2:15, right?”
There’s a twinkle in his eye as he says it, like it’s your little inside joke. It makes you smile, and you nod at him. “Yep. See you then.”
He and Henry make their way towards the locker room in a rush, Charlie reassuring Henry that they’d go through a drive-thru on the way home. You watch them leave, your heart still pitter-pattering in your chest. Mr. Barber would be the one at practice now—he’d be swimming . You’d get to talk to him; get to see him like that again.
You can’t fucking wait.
The next lesson, you pay more attention. When Henry comes out of the locker room, goggles already strapped onto his head, he’s shadowed by the lumbering form of his father. A father who was dressed in nothing but a pair of swim trunks and a towel slung around his shoulders. You try to pretend like your eyes haven’t just slid over his body hungrily, busying yourself with double checking your attendance sheet.
After a couple moments there’s a gentle tap on your shoulder. When you turn, you’re faced with those stupid broad shoulders. You look up and into Charlie’s kind face.
“I’ve got the right time today, I promise.” He lifts his wrist, tapping his watch. You think, idly, that he really didn’t have to come over just to tell you that. Most parents didn’t talk with you beforehand, and barely afterwards. But you indulge him—or maybe yourself—and respond.
“Oh, good. Didn’t really want to try to grab hold of you again. Last time you were on a roll, nearly pulled me in. I would not have been happy.”
“Well I’m certainly glad that didn’t happen. I wouldn’t want Henry getting kicked out of class on my account.” He quips, an easy grin now on his face, revealing crooked front teeth and pointy incisors. Shit , how was he getting even cuter ? You shake your head, his attitude lifting yours, making you feel more comfortable with your conversation.
“Oh no, I’d never do that to my best student. I’d just have to kick you out. Send you over to the senior aerobics class.”
Charlie laughs, his head tilting back a little, letting his artfully swept-back hair brush further over his shoulders. It looked feathery soft all dry like this; you wanted to reach out and touch it. Down, girl , you tell yourself.
You glance over at your little group of students; it finally looked like everyone had arrived. Charlie seems to notice this as well because he takes a tiny half-step away from you.
“Well I’ll be in the far lane if you need anything.”
‘Like what?’ your brain supplies, but before you can embarrass yourself by actually asking the question, he’s giving you a half-wave and tiptoeing across the wet tile to the lap lanes. Clearing your throat, you return to your clipboard, forcing yourself to take roll again before starting the class.
Things continue like this for the next two weeks. You suddenly can’t remember how you ever got through life without your three-days-a-week vision of Charlie Barber in a swimsuit. You know you shouldn’t be absolutely shamelessly lusting over one of your student’s fathers, but hey, like you’d just said: absolutely shameless . As long as you weren’t obviously drooling over him, it was fine, right?
He wasn’t just nice to look at. He was kind, not only to you and Henry, but to the other students and family members as well (whenever he was out of the pool in enough time to speak with them). He even volunteered to help drive Lilah to practice for two days when her mom got sick, even though her house was out of his way. Bare minimum? Maybe. But it’s not like you knew this man. He was pretty, he was funny, he was sweet. That was it. He could be a serial killer for all you knew—a larger, perpetually wet, Ted Bundy type.
So maybe you’d give yourself a pass for choosing to believe he really was as lovely as he seemed.
One Saturday you’re at the community center, laying outside under the warm sun as you let yourself air dry. You normally didn’t work weekends but one of the other instructors had a family emergency, and you’d agreed to cover her practice. It was a group of about ten 11-12 year olds, and they were pretty self sufficient when it came to doing their regular routine, so it really wasn’t any extra stress. An extra pay cheque was nothing to complain about.
You’ve got your eyes closed, breathing slowly and steadily, feeling just a little sleepy in the heat of the day. By now, the sound of splashing water and laughing kiddos was a comfort; you could probably pop a recording on at night and fall asleep to it like some weird white noise track. Suddenly there’s a little prickle in the back of your brain—the strange but familiar feeling that someone was there next to you. You look up, shielding your eyes from the glare of the sun, and there is Charlie Barber in all his half-dressed glory.
His eyes widen, mouth falling open in a little ‘o’ —then he’s ducking his head, moving a hand up to rub at the back of his neck. He looks sheepish at being caught. “Hi. Sorry, I—I didn’t know if you were asleep, I didn’t want to wake you.”
“I wasn’t asleep.” You say kindly, sitting up and giving him what you hope is a warm smile. He returns it, running a hand through his dark hair.
“I wasn’t, uhm, here for long. I mean I wasn’t watching you or anything.”
Your brows arch of their own accord, and his pretty pale face turns red.
“… You know, I thought saying that would make me seem like less of a creep but I don’t think it worked.”
“No, I don’t think it did.” You say, but you’re holding back a laugh. Charlie huffs, shaking his head at himself, the corners of his full lips twisting up into a self-deprecating smirk. Your gaze falls from his face to his chest, and your brain clutches greedily at the image even as you quickly cast your eyes towards the pool.
“Where’s Henry?”
Charlie shifts from one foot to another, a rueful smile on his face. “I’m not ‘Dad’ today. Just Charlie. Henry’s up in San Francisco with Nicole.”
“Oh.” You’re surprised, and Charlie seems to notice. He gestures to the lounge chair beside you, brows arched in question. When you nod your assent, he sits.
“I’ve started coming here by myself. I like doing laps, and I’m slowly but surely trying to expose myself to the California sun.” He chuckles, stretching his long legs out in front of himself. Your eyes track the movement, watching the muscles in his thighs flex. God, he wasn’t fair.
“—Which, ah, reminds me.” His tone now sounds a little apprehensive and it gets your attention. He’s digging in the pocket of his trunks and comes out with a bottle of sunscreen, the item dwarfed in his large hand. “So this is embarrassing, but if I don’t put this shit on I turn red as a lobster. Usually I make Henry do my back because, you know, that’s what your kids are for but he’s not here today and I don’t know a single person here but you and, well …”
He trails off, apparently not able to finish his request. His honey brown eyes peek up at you from where he had his head ducked, hair falling into his face. You knew what he was asking, and there was no way you weren’t saying yes, no matter how many alarm bells in your head were telling you not to indulge.
“Sure,” you hear yourself saying. “Hand it over.” You reach out and he looks relieved as can be; he passes the bottle to you, long fingers brushing your palm.
“ Thanks , I really appreciate it. Last time I didn’t put sunscreen on my back I couldn’t sleep for a whole week. I’ve got a shit pain tolerance.” He flashes you a grin that can only be described as nervous before he’s sitting up straight and rotating himself until he has his back to you. You stare at the expanse of ivory skin covering firm muscle. Jesus H Christ .
You flick open the bottle, dispensing some of the cream into your hands. You realize maybe you should say something in return. “A whole week , huh? Sounds a little excessive.”
Charlie scoffs. “You try excessive when you hurt too bad to sleep any way but on your front, and then your son launches himself on top of you in the morn— EEENG !”
The yelp he lets out as the cold sun lotion hits his skin makes you burst out laughing, your whole body shaking as your hands rub against the backs of his shoulders. The back of his neck is quickly turning red, likely from embarrassment, and you find it within yourself to choke out an apology. “ Sorry ! Sorry, I—that was mean of me.”
“You’re fucking right it was!” His response is immediate, but when he turns his head to the side to eye you from his peripheral you can see he’s grinning, a dimple denting his cheek. You can’t keep the smile off your face even as your gaze turns to where you were touching him. You tell yourself you’re studying to make sure all of the cream gets spread evenly but you find your eyes tracing the smattering of freckles that decorated his skin.
Delicate constellations made their way from shoulder to broad shoulder, dipping down his spine. Your hands move with your gaze, down his ribs, noting when he shifts in his seat, arching away from you wherever he was ticklish. You have to stop and get a refill of sunblock, doing it blindly as you were too focused on the beauty marks that graced his form.
You want to stay like this forever, touching him. You want to memorize every little spot on his skin with your lips, want to drape yourself over him and press your cheek against one of those firm shoulders. You’d tend to the ones on his face, too; press as many kisses to the dimples on his cheeks as the dimples on his lower back.
… But you can’t. You won’t. Instead, you rub in the cream until it’s disappeared from view, and then tap his bicep. “There ya go. All done!”
He turns back to face you, a strange expression on his face; it’s gone before you can begin to try to decipher it. In its place is his normal, gentle, Charlie Barber smile: plush lips turned slightly up at the ends. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
“Of course, anytime.” Anytime . Fucking hell, did you really just tell him that you would rub lotion into his skin anytime ??
Charlie huffs out a quiet laugh, but it’s not one that makes you feel self-conscious—it’s not a laugh at you . It almost seems like he's laughing at himself . You chew on your bottom lip as he reaches across the space between the two of you and plucks the bottle of sunscreen from the chair. “Well, I’ll leave you be. I’ll see you on Monday?”
You nod, your whole body mourning when he stands, towering over you once again, the distance suddenly much too far.
“Yeah,” you say softly. “See you on Monday.”
You watch him lumber off towards the pool, alabaster skin shiny under the summer sun. Sigh .
“My dad likes you.”
You arch your brows at Henry, giving him a look. It was Monday, and the two of you were sitting outside under a giant umbrella, waiting for Charlie to arrive. He’d texted you earlier that morning, frantic, saying he had a meeting that got moved around and now it ended at 2:00; he was worried he’d be late to pick up Henry. You’d assured him that it was fine, that you didn’t mind waiting with Henry until he got there.
You expected the boy to take the time for free play in the pool, especially since outside had a slide instead of the regular diving boards inside. But nope—Henry had plopped down right next to you and started talking.
“He thinks you’re pretty. He wants you to be his girlfriend .”
“Henry!” You scold him even as you laugh, shaking your head, cheeks aflame. He shrugs, matter of fact.
“It’s true. He told me.”
“Oh did he?” You don’t believe him for a second. Henry was known for being mischievous. Never any harm done, but he enjoyed his jokes and pranks. This was probably just another outlet for him.
“Yeah. I asked him in the car. I said ‘Miss Y/N is pretty’ and he agreed.”
You hum, thoroughly amused. You didn’t dare entertain the thought of Charlie Barber thinking you were pretty . He was just so…him. There was no way.
“I see.” You finally say, not quite knowing how to respond but not wanting to leave Henry hanging. The boy sighs, flopping down to lean against the back of the chair. You lean back yourself, legs crossed at the ankle, studying him. “What?”
He shrugs again, shoulders heaving dramatically. “Also he acts all weird around you. He always messes with his hair to make sure it looks nice .”
“He does not.”
“Does too !” Henry chirps, and you laugh, causing him to laugh in return. The two of you giggle together before movement at the outside gate catches your eye. There was Charlie, dressed in dark slacks and a blue button down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He catches your eye and waves, before running a hand through his dark hair, as if desperately trying to fix it. You blink, and turn to look at Henry.
Henry grins.