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Dad wasn't kidding when he mentioned my family’s competitive schemes though. A quick survey of the beach reveals my cousins gathered nearby pretending not to watch us, though their sly glances and muffled laughter suggest they have sabotage on their minds.
I nudge Wyatt and nod towards the potential troublemakers. "Keep an eye on those rogues. They'd destroy Buckingham Palace itself if they thought it would earn them a win."
Wyatt chuckles, the rich sound doing funny things to my insides. "Duly noted. Though we might have as much trouble keeping this team in line," he says wryly, eyeing Wilder attempting to sculpt what looks suspiciously like a large bosom out of sand.
"It's art!" Wilder insists with an impish grin when I shoot him a quelling look.
Rolling my eyes, I turn my attention back to molding a towering spire. Sand squishes between my toes as I work, flecks of white clinging to my legs, the very picture of carefree happiness. It's enchanting, pretending even for a little while that we're just four blissfully ordinary people enjoying a beach day, no tangled strings attached.
A warm hand covers mine as I attempt to pat down a tower, steadying my motions. "Gently now," Wyatt murmurs, his breath tickling my ear and sending goosebumps trailing down my neck. His guiding fingers, pressed intimately over mine, turn the simple act of sculpting sand into something that steals my breath.
A throat clears pointedly, breaking the moment. I glance up to see Emrys frowning down at our cozy position. An irrational flush of guilt warms my cheeks. Get it together, Kat! Reminding myself this is all pretend does little to slow my pounding pulse.
I subtly shift away from Wyatt's distracting proximity and grab a seashell to press into the castle wall as an ornament. "Let's keep focused, boys. I don't intend to lose and be at anyone's mercy."
"Careful what you wish for, darlin'," Wilder drawls, waggling his eyebrows.
Ignoring the heat his implication sparks, I level a stern look at each of them in turn. "We have a castle to build, soldiers. Now get to it!"
Three voices chime their assent, but beneath the playful camaraderie, an undercurrent of competition and anticipation thrums in the air around us. Because when it comes to these three, even a simple sandcastle is destined to become so much more.
We fall into an easy rhythm, working to sculpt towers, bridges, and ramparts. Laughter and playful banter flow as freely as the ocean waves. Under Emrys’ careful eye, the main keeps and gatehouses take shape, far sturdier than any amateur's attempt. Wyatt smoothly polishes decorative seashells into the walls with an artist’s eye, muttering something about the seashells enhancing the aesthetic.
Meanwhile, Wilder constructs an array of wonky turrets in varying heights. “It’s modular, trust me,” he insists when I eye his handiwork skeptically.
As a part of a tower takes shape beneath my hands, movement catches my eye. Two of my younger cousins creep towards us, poorly concealing plastic pails full of water. Their intent is clear.
My eyes narrow dangerously.
They scamper forward before I can raise the sound of alarm and splash the contents of the buckets over our castle’s east tower.
“You little heathens!” I yell after them as they sprint away, shrieking and laughing wildly.
Our team stares for a beat at the waterlogged tower, dripping pathetically under the bright sun. Then Wilder lets out a booming guffaw. “Nice try, kiddos!” He calls out cheerfully with a good-natured shake of his head.
Wyatt claps a supportive hand on my shoulder. “No harm done, we’ll just reinforce it.” His steady calm soothes my ruffled feathers. We quickly rebuild the damaged section, patting it firmly into place.
“We’re going to need sentries to keep watch for further attacks,” I mutter, scanning the crowded beach suspiciously.
Emrys nods, his broad frame exuding readiness. “I’ll guard the north flank,” he rumbles before lopping off to stand watch, muscles flexing.
I turn back to embellishing a tower with shells and nearly jump out of my skin when a pair of arms wrap around me from behind. “I’ll guard this backside personally,” Wilder drawls playfully.
Swatting at his hands, I twist to fix him with a stern glare. “Control those wandering paws, cowboy. We’ve got bigger issues at the moment.” I gesture discreetly with my chin towards more cousins hovering nearby pretending to enjoy a moment in the sun to stretch, though their covert glances betray their sabotage intentions.
Wilder's grin doesn't dim one bit, clearly enjoying riling me up. But he dutifully moves off to stand guard on the south side, feet sunk into the sand.
“Think you can help me make up for the loss in labor that we just had to resource out as security?” I ask Wyatt pointedly.
He blinks, looking unfairly adorable as sand dusts his chiseled cheekbones. “I’m a sandcastle professional,” he assures smoothly and now I’m the one blinking at him. But then he smirks and I have to quickly avert my eyes as heat crawls up my neck.
“Good. Then let’s fortify these walls before the next attack comes.”
We work diligently, though the temptation to steal glances at each other proves difficult to resist. As the sun beats down, Wyatt shrugs off the top of the chicken suit and ties it at his waist, leaving him bare from the waist up. Catching his sun-kissed skin dripping with tantalizing beads of sweat, I nearly drop a bucket of sand down my dress trying not to gawk.
Just then, a new motion catches my eye from the treeline. Annabelle, Ethan, and Dad lurk there with water balloons in hand and mischief in their smiles. My eyes widen. “Incoming, take cover!” I yell.
Wyatt instantly tugs me down, shielding my body with his as a barrage of water balloons pelt our castle mercilessly. Gleeful whoops and laughter sound from our attackers before they scamper away again.
