Page 45 of The Wrong Groom

“Beach day!” Immediately, she springs up, now wide awake. “I’m gonna build the biggest sandcastle ever!” Her lisp turns the sibilants into “th” sounds.

“I can’t wait to see it.” I smile fondly. “Why don’t you pick out some clothes for today, okay? A swimsuit and something to wear over it.”

“Okay!” She throws the comforter back and jumps out of bed. I retreat to the hallway as she starts to open up her dresser drawers. While Alexis and Peyton are both getting ready, I’m planning on whipping up some pancakes.

In the kitchen, I grab a mixing bowl and the ingredients—flour, eggs, milk, vanilla extract. As I’m dolloping the batter into a frying pan, letting it sizzle, Alexis walks into the kitchen, running a comb through her wavy hair.

I do a double-take at the sight of her. She’s wearing a white shawl, and underneath it is a swimsuit. Her legs are bare, and the shawl doesn’t do much to cover her midriff either.

“Something smells good,” she says, her voice light, as if she’s unaware of the effect she’s having on me. After last night, that feels impossible. “What are you making?”

I clear my throat. “Pancakes.” I gesture with the spatula at the golden-brown medallions in the pan. “Do you take syrup on yours?”

“Oh, definitely.” She settles at the counter, leaning on the granite surface. “They look delicious.”

Peyton comes bounding down the stairs, her hair a wild mess of curls and her face alight with excitement. “Beach time! Beach time!”

“Pancakes first,” I say, flipping the first batch onto a waiting plate. “You need some fuel in you before you get to work on those sandcastles.”

Peyton takes a seat at the counter next to Alexis. It doesn’t escape my notice that they both seem much more comfortable around each other this morning.

I pass out pancakes to both of them, then serve myself two of them. It’s quiet in the kitchen as we all scarf down breakfast. Sunlight streams through the large windows, illuminating strands of Alexis’s copper hair, dappling her skin, and I realize with a start that she’s not wearing her usual layer of foundation. Her freckles are plainly visible.

When we’re done with pancakes, the three of us troop outside to pile into my four-door Maserati. The car was a gift from my father years ago, when Melanie was pregnant with Peyton and it was clear my family was growing.

You’ll need a car with a back seat, I remember my father telling me. You and your wife can ride in flashy coupes all you like now, but when you have a small child, you need four doors.

He was right, of course. About this, if not about most things. My brothers have gone through plenty of vehicles in the years I’ve had this car. We don’t tend to wait for things to get old in this family. We don’t need to. When you have the kind of money we have, you can afford the best, the latest, the fastest.

But I haven’t had the heart to trade this car in for a newer model. It’s served me well, and it’s like a ghost of a past I’m not ready to leave behind.

I secure Peyton in her car seat, then we’re off, headed to the beach.

There are plenty of secluded, private or semi-private beaches we could go to, but I know that Peyton’s favorite beach is public. She likes the boardwalk nearby, the food stands laden with cotton candy and soft pretzels.

The moment we pull into the parking lot, Peyton is already hoping for something sweet. “Can I get an ice cream, Daddy? Please?”

“You just had breakfast,” I point out, amused, as I put the car into park.

“I still have room! And I finished my pancakes!”

“Alright, fine. Ice cream it is.” I turn to Alexis. “And I’ll grab us a couple of cold drinks.”

“That sounds nice.” She nods, smiling gratefully. “Could you get me a⁠—”

“Herbal iced tea, with a bit of vanilla,” I recite from memory.

She blinks, seeming startled. “How did you know that?”

“You’re my wife,” I tell her, unable to stop myself from grinning. “Of course I remember what you want.”

Peyton and Alexis hang back as I head to a nearby coffee stand to order the tea, along with a cold brew for myself. When I return to them, Peyton is chatting animatedly about her sandcastle.

“And it’s gonna have a moat with sharks in it,” she proclaims, nodding importantly. “To keep the princess safe.”

“Sharks, huh?” Alexis looks up at me, her eyes twinkling as she accepts her drink. “How are you going to get sharks in there?”

Peyton thinks for a moment. “Hm. It’s gonna be big enough for sharks, but I’m not gonna try to put any sharks in.”