I can’t believe they’re mine.
I’m glad we opted for more casual kilt attire, with sweaters and boots, over the more formal suit-like jackets and vests, shined shoes, and kilt hose. It feels right. All of this does.
Trailing behind Jamie comes Willow, Breck’s daughter, with a camera slung around her neck, clicking pictures of Jamie walking toward the arch. For an eight-year-old, she’s pretty damn good with that thing. Rory told me she assists with all their elopements back home and sometimes ends up with the best shot of the day when they go through all the images.
I wonder with a smile what the best shot from today will be.
Jamie finds his place between Breck and Lennox, and I blow out a breath. It’s almost time.
“Are you ready?” Rory asks, her hand squeezing my lace-adorned shoulder.
Her fitted seafoam-green dress hits mid-calf over tall boots and she has a tartan blanket scarf wrapped around her shoulders. For mid-September, it’s a bit cooler than usual, but at least it’s not raining… yet. Her strawberry-blonde hair hangs over one shoulder in an elaborate braid, and she wears a smile that tells me there’s nowhere she’d rather be.
“Aye, I am.” I turn away from the window and walk over to the long mirror hanging on the entryway wall. My cheeks are pink, my freckles standing out against them, and my blonde hair falls in simple waves down my back, the sides pulled back and weaved together to hold it away from my face. I’m wearing my mum’s dress—my something borrowed—and have never felt more beautiful.
It’s all delicate cream lace over a champagne satin that slides against my skin. The A-line skirt falls over my hips and down to a short train, the bodice is cut in a deep V in both the front and back, and fluttering lace sleeves drape over my upper arms. It’s feminine and romantic in the most effortless way.
Dad wraps a Murray tartan blanket scarf around my shoulders, squeezing them gently. “You look stunning, m’eudail,” he says, and kisses my cheek.
He slides my hand into the crook of his arm and we walk to the door of the cottage. He’s the only one in Stewart tartan today, the bolder red standing out against my off-white dress.
Rory opens the door for us and steps back a few feet, the click of the shutter going as she captures every movement. I reach for my bouquet of cream roses and purple-blue thistles, accented with greenery and white heather, off the sideboard with my free hand and we step out into the warm sunlight. My train swishes along the ground and I pull my tartan blanket scarf tighter around my shoulders.
Dad walks me with careful precision toward the arch and everyone stands, even Angus—holding firmly on to Aileen’s hand. His body may be frail but there is nothing that could dampen the joy radiating off him. His smile is wide, reaching his eyes and making their grey color dance with barely concealed silver tears.
My gaze slides to Jamie and the whole world stands still. Our eyes lock and I almost falter a step at the look of blissful elation on his face. His delight makes a buzz break out over my skin, my heart rate beating a gleeful rhythm in my chest.
I love this man. I have loved him for as long as I’ve known him. And now I get to have him. My feet pick up their pace, carrying me toward him across the garden. The garden where our story began eighteen years ago; the garden where we broke; the garden where we found healing; the garden where we now get to choose each other for the rest of our lives.
My dad presses another kiss to my cheek when we come to stand before Jamie and Breck. There’s no formal “giving me away”—just this kiss and a hug for Jamie where Dad whispers something in his ear that I can’t hear. When they part, Jamie nods and says, “Always.”
I melt at that word, at its implication, at its meaning for us.
Jamie takes both my hands in his, bringing them to his lips and making goose bumps break out across my skin.
Dad joins my mum and everyone sits. I hardly notice the click of the cameras or the way Rory and Willow move around us to capture the ceremony. I have eyes only for Jamie.
We opted to combine our vows with a traditional Scottish handfasting ceremony, and the overwhelming sense of belonging, of home, I feel with our hands clasped together, wrapped in a swath of Jamie’s family tartan, has me feeling warm all over.
“Avonlea,” Jamie begins but has to stop to clear his throat, his voice thick with emotion. “In this very garden, eighteen years ago, I met my soulmate, my true home. I might not have known it then, but I know it now. I love you. I have always loved you. And now I get to love you as my wife, as the mother of my son”—he glances over his shoulder to where Lennox stands, and their matching grins widen—“as my best friend. Tha gaol agam ort.Always.”
Tears well in my eyes, brimming over as one slides down my cheek. The pad of his thumb moves across my skin to wipe it away and I take one shaky inhale, then another, preparing myself to speak my own vows over our hands.
“Jameson.” I look up into his eyes and their green depths hold me there, entranced. “Our love has always been something more than I could understand. It spanned oceans and years where it had to bideits time for us to find each other again, but it was always there. Quiet and unimposing, patient. It’s a love that lasts and the only kind of love I could ever want. Because it’s yours. You are my family, our family, and we love you. Tha gaol agam ort.Always.”
We’re supposed to wait for Breck to say “you may kiss the bride,” but we don’t. Our love is no longer patient, it is wanting and insatiable as our mouths meet and the small crowd of our families hoots in celebration. The sound is a dull roar compared to the rushing of blood in my ears as I kiss my husband, the man I’ve always wanted and thought I would never have, the father of my son, the love of my life.
And what a life we’re going to live now that we can finally be together.
EPILOGUE
Jamie – Three Months Later
Iwind my arms around Avi’s waist and press my nose into her waves, inhaling her floral scent and relishing the fact that she’s here—in this place—with me. She melts against my chest with a sigh and I tighten my grip.
“What do you think?” I ask before pressing a kiss below her ear.
“It’s beautiful, Jamie. I can see why you love it here so much.” She winds her fingers through mine where they rest across her abdomen, keeping her gaze locked on the snowy expanse of trees and Tahoe’s tall mountains in the distance outside the window.
