Page 55 of The Wrong Groom

“Alright,” I say, rolling up my sleeves. “Let’s do it.”

Peyton grins and hands me the piping bag, her fingers sticky with frosting. With a playful flourish, Alexis sets a cupcake in front of me. “Your canvas awaits.”

“Are you gonna do a flower?” Peyton asks.

“I think I might do a nice blob,” I reply. “What do you think?”

Peyton giggles. “A blob? Don’t be boring, Daddy! You have to make something pretty.”

“Okay. I think I’ll do a smiley face.” That seems like the most my meager drawing skills can handle. I can see Alexis’s cupcake a few feet away near the other finished creations. It’s obvious which one’s hers. There’s a perfect little kitten, orange fur and a pink nose, designed in frosting. Only one person at this island is talented enough to make that. It looks like it belongs in a bakery display. Mine, I think, is destined for a more abstract appreciation.

I concentrate, guiding the piping bag. A circle for the face, two little dots for eyes, and a big, slightly wobbly curve for the smile. It’s not perfect, but could be worse. “Voila,” I say, stepping back. “One happy cupcake.”

Peyton peers at it critically, then gives me an approving nod. “It’s good! But it’s not as pretty as Alexis’s.”

“No argument there.” I shoot a grin at Alexis, then become painfully aware of Margaret’s amused gaze from across the island. She’s leaning against the counter, arms folded, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. I turn away, trying not to look her in the eye as I push another cupcake toward Peyton. “Your turn again.”

Peyton grabs the piping bag with both hands, her little face scrunching up in determination. “This one’s gonna be a butterfly!” she declares.

“Ambitious,” I say, leaning on the counter to watch her work. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

As Peyton carefully squeezes the frosting out in shaky lines, I look back up at Alexis. She has a dab of pink frosting on her nose and seems completely unaware of it.

“You, uh.” I clear my throat. “You’ve got a little something on your nose.”

Alexis blinks, startled at first, then looks up at me with a surprised smile as I brush the smear of frosting off her nose. My knuckles graze her cheek, and I feel the faintest tremble pass through her. Her eyes lift to mine, wide and a little unsure, but they hold steady. There’s a beat—a long, charged beat—where neither of us moves, and the air between us feels suddenly heavier. Thicker. Like we’ve stepped across an invisible line without meaning to.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, her voice a little breathless, her lips curving into a small smile.

“You’re welcome.”

Her lips are parted slightly, her gaze dropping to the frosting on my thumb. She stares at it, a little too long, a little too intently. I know exactly what she’s thinking, because the same goddamn image flashes through my brain, hot and unfiltered.

And my body is responding to that thought—the thought of her plush lips wrapped around my finger.

Fuck. I can feel my cock starting to harden, stiffening against the constraint of my pants.

Hell of a time to pop a boner, you jackass.

I clear my throat, backing away from the island. “I’m going to—” My voice cracks. I cough once more. “I’m going to go order some dinner for us.”

My pulse is pounding in my ears, and every instinct I have is telling me to put distance between us. I can’t trust myself to stay in this kitchen. I turn on my heel, too fast, too obvious. I can feel Alexis’s gaze still pinned to my back as I retreat toward the living room.

What a fucking display, I think to myself, my teeth gritted.

When I reach the couch, I sink down hard, dragging in a breath that does nothing to cool the heat still simmering under my skin. My hands are shaking slightly as I pull out my phone, trying to scroll through restaurant options while my brain replays that brief, electric moment on an endless loop.

Her lips, parted.

Her eyes, unfocused and dark as they lingered on my hand.

The flush that crept up her neck, blooming soft and pink like the frosting Peyton smeared across the counter.

I scrub a hand over my face, cursing under my breath. The hard-on hasn’t subsided. The replay alone is enough to keep me achingly stiff. My body is betraying me.

Get your shit together, I tell myself firmly. This isn’t supposed to be like that. This wasn’t part of the deal.

And yet, here I am. Hard as a fucking rock, and thinking about the way she looked at me like she wanted to taste me.