The Rustic Pine had never looked more festive. Twinkly lights crisscrossed the ceiling, looped with garlands of cotton bolls, pine cones, and autumn leaves. Mismatched chairs circled every table, each one topped with platters of food brought by nearly every family in town.
Nicola Cavendish, in a floor-length red wrap dress that shimmered like sequins under the lights, floated over with Sweetpea tucked under one arm. “I told Wooster this morning we were due for a town wedding. I knew this was coming. Oh, and look at your hair, Capri—it’s practically Grecian.”
“Thank you, Nicola,” Capri said, catching Reva’s smirk.
Jake was soon pulled into a circle of men near the bar—Fleet Southcott, Clancy Rivers, Albie Barton, and Nick Thatcher among them—who were already debating which of them cried harder at the ceremony—Reva, Lila, or Charlie Grace.
“I got dust in my eye,” Charlie Grace said as she joined them. She pointed a finger at Jake. “But you—you looked downright choked up.”
Jake laughed and shook his head. “Guilty.”
Capri turned, only to be scooped into a hug by Jewel, Charlie Grace’s daughter, who handed her a crumpled watercolor painting. “I made this for you,” she said proudly. “It’s you and Jake and six dogs and a unicorn.”
Capri blinked. “That is...very accurate.”
“And there’s a fish wearing a veil,” Jewel added, pointing.
“Even better.”
Annie made her way to the front of the room with her violin in hand. She tapped her bow against her palm, and the room quieted.
“Capri and Jake,” she said, her voice warm. “We watched you two fall for each other—some of us slower than others,” she added with a wink at Capri, who rolled her eyes as laughter rippled through the crowd. “But all of us have enjoyed watching this love story unfold. So, from our hearts to yours, this night is for you.”
She lifted the violin to her chin and began to play. The opening strains of “What a Wonderful World” drifted through the room, quieting the conversations. Couples reached for one another. Charlie Grace leaned her head on Nick’s shoulder. Lila dabbed her eyes.
When the song ended, Annie stepped back, gave a theatrical bow, and then grinned.
“Now for a little fun,” she declared. With a flick of her wrist, she transitioned from violin to fiddle, and a rollicking mountain tune kicked up. The change in the room was instant.
Lucan squealed and clapped.
“Yeehaw!” yelled Bodhi West, already hauling his girlfriend toward the makeshift dance floor, which had been cleared in front of the fireplace.
The Knit Wit ladies shuffled out in matching shawls, forming a line.
“Capri, come on!” Charlie Grace said, grabbing her hand.
“I don’t know the steps,” Capri protested.
“Doesn’t matter. Just stomp and laugh.”
And she did. They all did.
The night unfolded like a living postcard of everything Capri never knew she’d wanted. Jake twirled her once, then again. Her hair fell from its twist. She didn’t care.
Later, she stood with a cider in hand, breathless from dancing, while Pete clinked a spoon against a glass to get everyone’s attention.
“I’ve got just one more thing to say,” he said. “In a town like this, we celebrate our own. We don’t always do it perfectly. But we show up. And tonight, we showed up for a girl who once said she’d never get married, and a guy who came to town with a hammer and a good heart.”
He looked over at Capri. “We love you, sweetheart. And we love that you let us be part of this.”
Capri felt Jake’s hand slip around her waist. She rested her head against his shoulder, overcome.
It didn’t matter that her mother or Dick weren’t there to raise a glass—God had given her an extended family in these people, and as she looked around the Rustic Pine, her heart was full to the brim.
As the night wore on, plates were scraped clean, cake was served (homemade by Annie, who wouldn’t reveal her frosting secret), and laughter floated out onto the darkened street.
Reva and Kellen slow danced near the jukebox. Lila dozed with her head on Whit’s shoulder. Clancy held Sweetpea in one hand and a root beer float in the other, looking entirely content.
