Page 8 of Accidentally Marrying the Best Man

CHARLOTTE, THREE YEARS LATER

T he afternoon sun reflects on the lake surface, turning every ripple shiny and bright.

Mack shrieks with delight from the water’s edge.

He looks exactly like the pictures I’ve seen of Nick and Jay, at two.

Mack has a shock of storm-dark hair glued to his damp forehead.

His chubby fists wave excitedly, every inch of him in constant motion.

I’m sprawled in a striped lounge chair, a paperback tented on my belly, sunglasses sliding down my nose. Beside me, April sighs like she’s on a spa retreat, not just a ten-foot buffer from toddler chaos. She’s got a straw hat on and is surrounded by that gentle aura I envy every time we hang out.

“Think they’ll actually tire them out?” I say, nodding toward the guys and the kids, a hint of a smirk in my voice.

April shrugs and grins, sipping her lemonade. “Not a chance. But maybe they’ll take a nap that lasts longer than six minutes. A mom can dream.”

I glance over the curve of my glasses. Down at the water, Nick crouches in the shallows, his shorts showing off strong muscular legs and his arms open as Mack runs—top-heavy, reckless—back and forth from his uncle Jay to his dad.

Jay is halfway through constructing an elaborate sandcastle fortress with Lola, who wears a hot-pink tutu over her swimsuit like lake royalty. She orders her dad to make the towers taller.

Lola has hoarded every single bright plastic bucket and shovel into a guarded semicircle. When Mack circles near, she declares, “NO!” at a volume that rattles the gulls.

Mack, undeterred, pivots to launching handfuls of sand into the lake, and Nick throws me a helpless, amused look that says: Yeah, this is our monkey. This is our circus.

April laughs. “She’s got his stubborn streak. Jay swears he wasn’t like that as a kid, but Nick tells a different story.”

I pretend I’m not melting with happiness.

It’s been three years since that first fragile night as Mr. and Mrs. King.

Three years of every high and low and sideways day we never saw coming.

Three years since the wedding that wasn’t—and then a real one, in the courthouse, two months later with Jay as best man, and April as matron of honor.

Now, we’re here and nothing in my life is perfectly tidy, but it finally feels like it fits.

I made partner and enjoyed it for six months before resigning from the firm. Now I run my own office, still practicing family law, in every area except divorce.

Mack squeals as Nick sweeps him up and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, both of them howling.

Lola stomps her foot in the sand. “I want a ride on my daddy’s shoulders.”

A snort escapes me. “Parenting. A sport that’s better as a spectator than contestant.”

April grins, handing me the bottle of sunscreen. “Want a drink?”

I fake-groan. “Do you even have to ask?”

She pours me some spiked lemonade. We clink glasses and sit in companionable silence for a moment, breathing in pine and sunscreen while listening to the hum of Nick and Jay’s laughter.

“Remember the old days?” I say finally. “When weekends meant brunch and not being up before sunrise?”

April cracks her knuckles. “And hangovers. I do not miss those. Now I get up at dawn to negotiate peace treaties over whether a sippy cup is blue or purple.”

I tip my glass to her. “Here’s to progress.”

Jay and Nick are plotting something at the edge of the dock.

Jay scoops a reluctant Lola under one arm, Nick grabs Mack, and in a flurry of wiggling limbs and toddler outrage, the dads count down with exaggerated glee.

“Three…two…one.” They toss both kids, safely, feet first, squealing, into the shallowest stretch of water.

Lola pops up sputtering. “DAAAAAD!” While Mack is already hunting for rocks, giddy with shock at cold water, my heart snags in my chest with love and gratitude so overwhelming it feels practically embarrassing.

April shields her eyes. “Do you ever think we’ll have a peaceful vacation?”

I shake my head, hair sticking to the sunscreen on my shoulder. “If we do, I’ll be worried something’s wrong.”

Mack flings a soggy stick toward us, yelling, “Mama! Watch!”

Lola is not happy with Mack hogging the grownups’ attention. She flings a rock. “No, watch me. Watch me.”

April drums her fingers on her paperback. “Maybe one day, I’ll take less than a year to finish a book.”

I exhale slowly, with a half-smile on my lips. “Maybe. But probably not until they’re in high school. Maybe middle school, if we’re lucky.”

Mack runs toward me, moss and sand stuck to his knees. But Lola distracts him with a bucket she’s finally okay sharing with him.

Nick and Jay are huddled together, deep in “guy talk,” which seems to be about the aerodynamics of skipping rocks. The kids run to them, clinging to their legs.

Nick tips his head back, laughing at something Jay mutters. He looks up, finds my eyes. His smile widens, just for me.

April notices and elbows me. “You two are disgusting, you know. Still googly after all this time.”

Heat creeps up my neck, but I don’t deny it. I used to be mortified by how visible my love was, how obvious. Now I let myself be smitten in public. “You and Jay are exactly the same?.”

She glances at her husband, her blue eyes gentle. “We are. I never thought I’d find this kind of love.”

Sometimes, in dark moments between midnight bottle-shakes and feverish foreheads, I wonder how any of us do it, this messy, stitched-together thing called marriage.

But then I see Nick plant a kiss on Mack’s head, tussled hair sticking up like a renegade patch of grass, and I remember, you just keep showing up, again and again, with as much love as you can carry that day.

Down at the lake, the toy drama escalates. Lola glares with all the queenly disapproval of a monarch denied her scepter as Mack snatches a plastic duck, declaring, “Mine now.”

Lola bursts into tears so loud it echoes back from the far bank, and Jay rushes to scoop her up. “Hey, hey, Lo. Sharing is hard, but you know what’s even cooler? Trading. Look, let Mack have the duck, and I’ll help you find the purple boat.”

Lola, unconvinced, sniffles. Mack’s bottom lip is already wobbling, and I sigh, heaving myself out of my chair.

April follows me down to the water’s edge, our feet sinking into cool sand.

“Crisis?” she asks.

I grin, reaching for Mack’s hand. “Just your standard cousin diplomacy.”

I crouch, eye-level with the pair. “Lola, what if Mack gives you his green truck for the duck? Tradesies?”

Lola narrows her eyes, considering.

Mack brandishes the truck like a talisman.

They exchange a cautious, toddler détente, and as quickly as the storm arrived, the tiny disaster is averted.

April chuckles, low and wry. “Think we can get the United Nations to hire us for peacemaking duty?”

I grab her hand. “At this rate, yes. But we’ll need more juice boxes.”

Nick wades over and plants wet chilly lips on my arm, making me yelp. “How does it feel to be the world’s best negotiator?”

I wrap an arm around his waist. “Honestly? Like a superhero. A very sticky, exhausted, sometimes-barely-functional superhero.”

He tucks Mack under one arm, sturdy and safe. “Want to switch? Your turn to win the frog-catching contest.”

The rest of the afternoon unspools in golden, lazy minutes. Mack and Lola chase after dragonflies. Nick and Jay teach them to skip rocks.

April and I recharge in our chairs, trading toddler anecdotes, and enjoying relaxing silences neither of us needs to fill.

When the sun gets low in the sky, we round up sandy, giggling kids for bath time. Later, pajama-clad and sugar-sticky, they collapse in a heap of tangled legs on the porch, listening to Jay strum the opening chords of “American Pie” on a battered guitar.

I lean against Nick on the porch steps, Mack’s head heavy in my lap, as a hush settles over the lake. Nick traces lazy circles on my arm, his touch as familiar as my breath.

April cradles Lola, her head pressed to Jay’s shoulder.

It’s been three years of healing—three years since Nick made me believe beginnings can be forged out of chaos, and that even the wrong wedding can lead to the right life.

Mack snuffles in his sleep, one hand curled around my thumb. I kiss his head, then turn to Nick. “Were you ever scared we wouldn’t be enough?”

He looks at me, eyes dark and soft in the porch light. “Every single day. But every day, we are.” He presses his lips to my knuckles. “Especially when I look at you.”

There’s nothing grand about this moment—no perfect Instagram glow, just sticky-fingered children, tired bodies, on a porch that smells like citronella and burnt marshmallow. But it’s perfect all the same.

It’s ours.

Jay whispers something to April, and she grins, tracing her daughter’s cheek with one gentle finger.

In a few years, these weekends at the lake will change. As Mac and Lola grow, the toys will be set aside, and there will be other types of kid crises for us to negotiate.

But tonight, knee-deep in love and laughter, everything is exactly as it should be.

I look at my son, at my husband, at my friends.

My family.

As the chirps of the crickets grow louder, I reach over to squeeze Nick’s hand, and he squeezes back, solid and sure.

Three years ago, I thought this kind of love wasn’t within my grasp. I thought I’d forever navigate the world alone.

But here I am, my heart overflowing with so much love, I can’t believe how lucky I am.

The waves lapping against the shore whisper, and dusk closes in like a soft blanket.

I rest my head on my husband’s strong shoulder.

As I look down at my son sleeping in my lap, I wonder how one person can deserve this much happiness.

But I don’t question it for long. Instead, I bask in being the luckiest woman in the world.

Want to read Jay and Aprils story? Check out Accidentally Kidnapping the Groom .

Thank you for reading this book!

-Maria