Page 4 of The Wrong Groom

There’s a rustle on the line as Margaret passes the phone. Then Peyton’s voice comes through, sweet and small, with a noticeable lisp on the sibilants.

“Daddy, guess what?”

“What is it, love?”

Over by the wet bar, where he’s fiddling with the coffee maker, Tristan pauses. He glances over his shoulder, grinning, and I scowl at him. I can’t hold the expression, though, not with my little daughter’s voice in my ear. Just talking to her is enough to sap the tension from me, no matter how much stress I’m under.

“One of the other kids got a pet kitten,” Peyton says solemnly.

“Oh, yeah?” Oh, boy. I think I know where this is headed. “Did you get to see a picture?”

“Uh-huh. It was adora—adorable.” She’s careful with the word adorable, saying it slowly to make sure she gets it right. Peyton is a precocious kid, and at six years old, her vocabulary is expanding in leaps and bounds.

“What color was it?”

“It was orange,” she says. “And it had some white on its tummy.”

“It sounds very cute. Is there a reason you wanted to tell me this?” I glance up from my laptop screen, shooting Dominic and Beckett a glare to cut off their silent laughter.

“I thought that… I was thinking about what if… what if we had a kitten?”

“There it is,” I say, a grin spreading across my face even though Peyton can’t see me. “We’ll see, okay, Bug? A kitten is a big responsibility.”

“Responsi… responsibily?”

“Responsibility,” I say, matching her cautious, exploratory cadence. “It means that it’s hard work. Pets depend on you to take care of them.”

“I would take care of it!” she declares. “I would be the best carer ever!”

“I know you would.” Warmth fills my chest at her enthusiasm. “But first, you need to make sure you know how to take care of it. We can check out some books about cats, and maybe practice on something a little easier—like a fish or a hamster. What do you say?”

“Okay!” Peyton says gleefully. “I’m gonna name it Cupcake!”

“That’s an excellent name,” I tell her. “We can talk more about this when I get home later. Sound good?”

“Yes! I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, Bug.”

Peyton hangs up the phone, and I set mine face down on the table, a residual smile lingering on my face. I glance at Dominic and Beckett, who are still stifling their amusement.

“Sorry,” Beckett chuckles. “Just imagining you as a kitten dad. I could totally see you dressing it up in little sweaters.”

Dominic guffaws. “Oh, he will. He’s a fucking marshmallow.”

“A marshmallow,” I repeat, deadpan. “Right. I’m sure that’s what Neal Dixon thinks.”

“You can try to play it off all you like,” Beckett says. “I hear the way you talk to Peyton.”

“Okay, well, it’s different with Peyton.” Nobody makes me soften like my daughter. Since her mother’s death, she’s been the center of my whole damn world. I can be cold, I can be ruthless when I need to be—but not with her. Never with her.

Tristan returns to the table, coffee in hand, his grin far too smug for my liking. “Of course it’s different,” he says, lowering himself into the chair across from me. “But let’s be real, Gabe. You give that kid a kitten and you’re toast. Next thing we know, you’ll be carrying it around in one of those little slings.”

Dominic snorts. “God, I would pay money to see that.”

I rub a hand over my face, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “You’re all delusional.”

“She’s got you wrapped around her finger,” Dominic says. “That kitten is inevitable.”