They cry and laugh as they declare their love and claim their hope for a future not dependent on circumstances, but dependent on each other.
I stand enthusiastically with the rest of the crowd, clapping and cheering, when the minister stands and says, “Family and friends . . . Mr. and Mrs. Jordan Walker!”
Milo wraps his arm around me and presses a strong kiss on the top of my head, and I feel the strength of it all the way to my toes.
49
SADIE
I pull Milo along,my arm wrapped within his, toward the reception—where they’ve promised dessert and dancing.
“This part might get tricky, Bookworm,” Milo says in a low tone.
“It’s Jo, honey,” I correct. “And Jo really wants to dance.”
“Oh, does she?” he says as he suddenly slides his hand down my arm to grab hold of my palm and spin me around.
I can feel my grin press deep against my cheeks. “Shelovesdancing.”
“Well, I suppose since Noah loves his wife, he could indulge her.”
“He’s a good man,” I tease, pressing a soft kiss on Milo’s cheek.
Everyone begins to filter into the room, and we stand in a corner and watch as all these strangers mingle and take seats.
I rise up to my tiptoes, whispering in Milo’s ear. “See any eligible bachelors for my lips?”
He turns his head quickly, placing his mouth on mine for a quick kiss before he leans back and smiles at me.
“Astranger.” I laugh. “You don’t qualify.”
“It was worth a shot.” He shrugs as he pretends to look around the room.
“Check, check, check!” a playful deep voice echoes through the speaker. “The newlyweds will be arriving soon, but while we wait, let’s get this party started!”
A familiar song pulses through the room—“I Gotta Feeling” by the Black Eyed Peas.
Excitement zips up my spine, and when I look up at Milo, he’s already watching me with a knowing grin, and I wonder if he sees a girl wearing a pink prom dress like I see a boy in a tux with a pink tie and a boutonniere made of a lily and baby’s breath.
“Let’s dance, Mrs. Darcy.” He chuckles, taking my hand.
I squeal, both out loud and internally.
We’re the first on the dance floor, but I’m not dancing with a stranger. I’m dancing with a man who learned to dance with me. He anticipates my movements before I even make them, ten years completely evaporated in a song.
I shake my hips, and my shoulders ride the beat. Laughter soon bubbles up in my chest, light and loud. Everyone in the room becomes a blur of color. Milo leans in and says, “Do you trust me?”
With no hesitation I say, “Of course.”
There’s a devious spark in his blue eyes when he wraps his arms around me in a way he never has, spinning me horizontally and stopping just before my body would hit the ground. My body feels weightless, like a feather in his hands. When he brings me back to my feet, my eyes are wide. “Where did you learn that?”
“You don’t know everything about me, Bookworm,” he teases.
“Can we do that again?” I ask.
“My night is all yours.”
Each song fuses old moves with new ones, familiarity blending with excitement. Sweat beads on my skin, and a smile permanently etches itself on my face. I feel like the butterflyon my shoulder, free and hopeful. And the way Milo is looking at me makes me feel like the world isn’t as hard as I’ve been expecting it to be.
