Austin finally stepped closer, looking up at Alec.
“You’re Alec?” Austin asked.
The boy nodded.
“Your dad said you guys moved from Scotland. Do you like it here?”
Alec’s jaw tightened. “No.”
Awkward silence.
“Oh.” Austin processed this. “Yeah, I didn’t like it when my uncle moved in either. But he makes good pancakes, so it’s okay now.”
“Hi. I’m Brody. I’m seven. Do you like to draw? I brought colored pencils.”
Rome brightened. “I like to draw! Well, I’m not good at it, but it’s fun. You wanna see the tide pools? There might be crabs!”
“Wanna see who can build the biggest sandcastle?” Eoin called out, already heading toward the beach with a bucket in hand he’d been holding the entire car ride.
Paris followed, and suddenly the spell was broken. Rome took off after them, and the twins followed. Even Alec’s rigid posture relaxed slightly as the group moved toward the sand.
Patrick and I stood in the parking lot, surrounded by beach bags and coolers.
“Well,” he said, “that went better than I expected.”
“The day’s young,” I replied, but I was smiling.
He reached for the sunscreen in my bag, his hand brushing mine. The contact sent electricity up my arm, and from the way his eyes darkened, he felt it too.
“We’ve got this,” he whispered, low enough that only I could hear.
His confidence steadied me, the same way it had in every phone call, every stolen moment. I reached up and dabbed a bit of the sunscreen onto Maggie’s cheeks while Patrick held her against his hip.
I looked up at him, a small smile tugging at my mouth. “Let’s go build some sandcastles,” I said.
Then I looked down at my daughter and took her tiny hand. “Come on, sweetheart.”
The beach was wonderful—wide expanses of pale sand, gentle waves, and tide pools glittering in the morning sun. The kids had already begun staking out territory, and I watched as natural alliances formed.
Paris had appointed herself leader of the decorating committee, which comprised the twins, Blaze and Fury. She stood in the center, hands on her hips, issuing orders.
“Carson, you find shells. Cory, you find pretty rocks. Blaze and Fury, you’re in charge of seaweed. We’re making the most beautiful castle on the whole beach.”
They all scattered to follow her commands without question. Paris had that effect on people.
Eoin was attempting to help everyone at once, his enthusiasm outpacing his coordination. He’d already knocked over two bucket towers and gotten sand in his hair.
And Maggie sat in the sand near Patrick’s feet, contentedly filling and dumping a small bucket, over and over, fascinated by the simple act.
“They’re doing okay,” I said.
“Better than okay.”
Paris appeared at my elbow. “Mom, we need shells for decorating. Can you and Patrick help us find some?”
It wasn’t really a request. Paris had inherited Marco’s ability to make suggestions sound like directives.
“I’d love to, sweetheart,” I said, glancing at Aspen and Patrick’s little one playing in the sand. “But we can’t leave these two by themselves.”
