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“Not quite, babygirl, not quite.” He abruptly appeared nervous, and he rose to his feet and walked to my side.
Before I realized what was happening, he’d withdrawn a small, black velvet box from his pocket and opened it to reveal a sparkling diamond ring. My mouth dropped open. Holy heckballs, was this a dream?
“My sweet babygirl, I love you very much and I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you. There’s no one else I’d rather spend the apocalypse with. Just you. Only you.” He gulped hard and his eyes glimmered with emotion. “I promise I’ll take care of you and be faithful to you, and I also promise to trust you with my secret code. Meg, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
I squealed and threw my arms around his neck, babbling with excitement. “Yes,” I finally managed. “Yes, Daddy, yes.”
He slipped the ring on my finger, and it was a perfect fit. He gazed at me with warmth and longing as he brushed my hair behind my ears.
“You’ve made me so very happy, babygirl.” He pressed his lips to mine for a quick, sweet kiss.
“Not as happy as you’ve made me.” I held my hand up and turned it from side to side, allowing the ring to catch the light. “Where did you find a ring like this, Daddy? It’s so beautiful.”
To my complete surprise, he said, “It belonged to my grandmother.” He exhaled with obvious relief. “I’m glad it fits. I was a bit worried about that. A couple of times while you were sleeping, I attempted to put it on your ring finger so I could test it out, but every time I would touch your hands, you would thrash around or wake up. Talk about luck.”
His grandmother. Wow. I was deeply moved that he’d given me a family heirloom. I couldn’t believe how blessed I was to have met Darrel—my adoring Daddy.
After he helped me return to my seat, he leaned down and placed his lips at my ear. “Eat your pancakes, sweetheart. After brunch, we can start planning our wedding.”
Chapter 12
One month later…
DARREL
Meg was a beautiful bride. As she walked down the makeshift aisle near the garden, I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
She wore a flowing, lace-trimmed white dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, accentuating her bosom and her hips. Her hair was done up in a twist, and little purple flowers were spaced throughout her golden locks. A sheer white veil spilled down her back and billowed out when a breeze swept into the clearing.
When Meg finally reached me, I took her hands in mine and blinked back tears. “Babygirl, you’re so beautiful.”
She blushed. “Thanks, Daddy.”
The traveling priest who stood near us made a choking noise and coughed a few times, and I bit back a smile.
“You look really handsome, by the way, Daddy,” she said, unfazed by the holy man’s shock. “I’ve never seen you in a suit. I can’t believe you found one that fits. You know, considering how big you are.” Mischief twinkled in her pretty blue eyes.
The priest coughed harder. One of our guests rushed over with a cup of water for the poor scandalized man, and Meg and I tried our best not to laugh.
As the priest recovered from his coughing fit, I glanced at our gathered guests. About two dozen of our neighbors had come to witness our wedding. They were dressed in their finest clothing and had brought so many gifts that I didn’t know where we would put everything. Weddings were a huge deal during the apocalypse and people usually went all out.
“Dearly beloved,” the priest began, “we are gathered here today…”
We spoke traditional vows and exchanged simple silver wedding bands that the blacksmith had made for us.
My heart soared with joy when the priest pronounced us husband and wife.
I kissed Meg soundly, then hugged her and whispered, “Husband and wife, and Daddy and babygirl,” into her ear.
The crowd erupted into cheers, and we walked down the grassy aisle, holding hands as we thanked our well-wishers.
Once we reached the end of the aisle, Meg tossed her bouquet toward a group of unmarried women, widows mostly, and they proceeded to tussle for the flowers. Sixty-year-old Harriot who ran the trading post came out victorious in the end. Good for her. She seemed sweet on the blacksmith, and I suspected theirs would be the next wedding our small town would celebrate.
We hosted a reception inside the farmhouse, complete with cake and champagne. I’d traded nearly all my homemade whiskey to fund the wedding, but I’d wanted everything to be perfect for my babygirl. She deserved nothing but the best. Seeing her face light up as she gazed at the beautifully-decorated cake was worth it.
“Daddy, that cake has tiers,” she gushed. “Actual tiers! One, two, three. Whoa. I’ve never seen anything so fancy before. I’ve only read about tiered cakes in old magazines I found.”
“I’m glad you like it, sweetheart. Mrs. Martin made it.”
