TULLY
The wind off Lake Superior cuts straight through my jacket. It’s the kind of dry December wind that sneaks through all the layers and makes your eyes water.
Windy Harbor earns its name this time of year.
I tuck my chin into my scarf and walk into Elm & Echo. The whole restaurant glows. Strings of white lights hang from the ceiling beams. The tall glass windows reflect the lights so everything inside looks doubled—soft gold bouncing everywhere against the dark winter outside.
It’s perfect.
I’ve missed some of the chaos of trying to turn Camden’s restaurant into a wedding venue, but not much, because he kept the restaurant open until the night before last. I finished up my home games and then did some heavy lifting yesterday afternoon to make up for my absence.
Chairs are in neat little rows facing the windows, most of the tables cleared out to seat only the family attending, and gorgeous flowers spill over the center of every table.
The whole place looks like it belongs in a winter movie. I just left Camden in his office. He asked me to make sure that everything is in place and everyone is here before we start the ceremony.
Grayson runs around the place, and Noah catches him when he runs past.
“Can you try to rein it in, buddy?” he asks. “We’re about to start the wedding, and you can’t be running laps or you’ll miss it.”
“Okay, Dad,” Grayson says, bending over to catch his breath. “I was seeing how fast I could run around all the tables, but I’ll stop.”
“Thank you, son. I’d appreciate that.” Noah chuckles.
Dad stands by the bar with Uncle Hal and Papa Hector, and I catch Uncle Hal winking at Grandma Nancy. She tsks and keeps walking.
God, I love these people.
I’m exhausted, but I’ve never been happier. Lola’s here, and she’s here to stay.
“What are you smiling about?”
I turn, already smiling, and my eyes widen when I see Lola. She’s wearing a long, sleeveless, dark purple dress with a little furry wrap that she shrugs off her shoulders.
“Because I couldn’t wait to see you in that dress,” I tell her. “I was getting impatient.”
“Were you?” She grins.
“It was worth the wait. You look incredible.”
“So do you,” she says, straightening my tie. “Tully Whitman in a suit and tie is doing things to me.”
“Yeah?” I grin, pulling her against me. “You’re doing things to me in that dress.”
She tangles her fingers in my hair and gazes up at me. “I can tell,” she says, laughing quietly.
“Mmm, this is gonna be a long night, trying to keep myself from tugging you into the bathroom and”—I lean and whisper the rest—“doing all the filthy things you’re imagining right now.”
“I’m gonna make you wait,” she says, smirking. “Then you’ll know how I feel watching you out on the ice. Your warm-ups are enough to make me”—she stands on her tiptoes and whispers in my ear—“come on the spot.”
She lowers back to the ground, and I groan. “Enough of that talk, or I’m gonna come right on the spot, right here, right now.”
She steps away, and I tug her back.
“Cover me,” I say, and she giggles.
“You look happy,” I say.
Her hands find my hair again. I fucking love it when she plays with my hair.
