The park is beautiful. Wrought-iron gates surround a small square that’s lush and green. Nothing indicates that a wedding is being held here today. No manufactured aisle or sign. Just the arch we designed with the florist. It’s simple, just the way they wanted.
Maggie’s eyes catch mine, and she lifts a hand, smiling.
I walk faster, coming to stand beside my father. “Sorry if I’m late,” I say, and it’s only then that Jacob’s head turns.
“We got here early,” Maggie says. She holds the bouquet Jacob and I chose in her hands. She’s dressed in a white top and a staid skirt, the outfit more casual than the one she wore for the first ceremony, and my father’s followed her lead, wearing a suit without a tie.
“Everyone ready?” the officiant asks, just as my father places a hand on my arm and lowers his voice.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, beaming.
“Me too.”
The officiant begins the ceremony, and it’s only then that I allow myself to look toward Jacob.
The sun’s shining directly on him, and his eyes are fixed on me.
He’s beautiful. Striking, even in his severity: the cut of his jaw, the line of his nose, the frames of his glasses. But it’s his softness that made me fall for him. The moments when he’s direct and vulnerable, when he tells me what he’s thinking, when he lays every emotion out for me, allowing me further and further in.
I knew it last night, but I’m even more certain of my decision now.
I want to do the same for him.
My father and Maggie take each other’s hands, reciting their vows, but Jacob and I don’t break our gaze.
“To love and to cherish,” Maggie repeats, and Jacob’s eyes flicker, his throat working as he continues to watch me.
I want to reach for him. I want to tell him everything, but I have to wait for this to be over. I have to wait for the right moment. I made a plan last night, and every bit of it terrifies me, but I want to see it through.
I’m sorry,I try to tell him telepathically.I messed all of this up, but I’m going to make it up to you. I promise.
Jacob’s brows draw together, no doubt in confusion, but I’m going to make it clear to him soon. I smile at him, hesitantly, just as the officiant declares my father and Maggie husband and wife.
—
After we pose for a few pictures, we walk the short distance across the street to the pub. My father and Maggie lead the way, their hands clasped. They haven’t said much of anything to each other since the wedding, simply content to be by each other’s side.
My father holds the door open for us, and Jacob and I follow Maggie inside. It’s not very busy at the pub. It’s only late afternoon—too early for a post-work crowd—and we find a table in a corner. Jacob says he’ll get the first round of drinks and gets up, heading toward the bar.
We’ve already done all the hugs and congratulations, and Maggie’s looking down at her phone, swiping through the pictures we took after the ceremony.
“What time’s your flight tomorrow?” my father asks.
“Early,” I say. “I have to get there by seven.”
He nods. “Can I drop you off?”
“Oh,” I say. “You wouldn’t mind?”
“No. I’d love to.”
“We both would,” Maggie chimes in.
“And we were thinking”—my father glances at Maggie, then back at me—“when does filming for next season wrap up?”
“About a week before Thanksgiving,” I say. “Everyone usually wants to be done by then, so they can be home for the holidays. We’ll still be working, but we’ll all be back. Reviewing footage and editing it so it’s ready to air in the spring.”
“And do you have plans?” my dad asks. “For Thanksgiving?”
