“This is the second wedding of mine you’ve been to.” My comment makesmecringe. Why would I bring up the fact that she came to my first wedding?
“Well, I know you know how to throw a party,” she replies with a tight smile, “and you got cheated out of a good reception the first time.”
We stay quiet for a few seconds, then I ask, “Do you know why I wanted to marry you? Besides the obvious reason—that we’re helping each other.”
She shakes her head slowly. “I know why you needed to get married, but I don’t know why you asked me specifically,” she replies honestly.
I stare down into her blue eyes. “You came back for me,” I say simply. “At my last wedding.”
The day is forever etched in my mind. Every guest, every family member, went home after my fiancée didn’t show up to the wedding. And I sat on those church stairs alone. Bliss was the one who walked down the aisle of the church and took my hand. She pulled me to my feet and led me out of the building, then drove me home. She didn’t ask questions; she didn’t demand juicy details. She simply drove me home, made a pot of coffee for me, and left.
I don’t think we said a single word to each other the entire time. She’s never spoken of it in the years afterward.
Now, looking back, I can see that she did what needed to be done, and it was exactly what I needed from her—her silent support. Maybe that was the point where I started seeing Bliss as a pillar, someone I could lean on and rely on. Someone who was there for me. Over the past year, I feel as though she’s become a true friend.
And it might not be a foundation of wild, romantic love, but it is a foundation, and I hope I can be the same for her. Because I’ve seen the loneliness in her eyes, almost as if she doesn’t know where she belongs, and I know she wants to belong here in Pine Ridge, running her business. I hope she feels she belongs with me.
“I didn’t do much that day,” she finally says. “I just knew you shouldn’t sit there alone.”
“I think everyone else was too scared to even approach me,” I say with a chuckle. “But you weren’t.”
“Being someone’s friend means supporting them even when it’s uncomfortable.”
That’s a loaded statement. On one hand, she’s just friend-zoned me as her husband; on the other, she’s proving that she’s exactly the kind of person I want to be married to.
“This is me trying to thank you, Bliss. I’m trying to thank you for being there for me, even when I didn’t know what I needed.”
She tips back so that she can look me in the eye.
“You’re a good man, Zane. And I hope, someday, you’ll realize you’re somebody worth loving too.”
CHAPTER 16
Bliss
Why didI say something about the L-word? I talked about Zane needing someone to love him while we were dancing. That’s not going to go over well with him if he actually thinks about it.
The logical conclusion is that his wife should love him.
And I’m his wife.When Zane first proposed, I told him that we weren’t friends. It was my last-ditch effort at guarding myself from heartbreak. But I’ve gone too far now. I’m his wife, and I’m casually throwing around the word ‘love.’
The drive back to Zane’s house is inordinately long. We don’t say a word the entire time, both of us relieved to be away from the crowd of people. The silence is peaceful besides me replaying every awkward word I said to Zane during our dance.
When I climb out of the truck, I nearly slam my dress train in the door. As I walk inside, I carefully hold my dress up to keep it from dragging in the gravel.
“Well, we did it,” I say as I climb the last step on the porch.
“We sure did,” he says with a laugh.
He reaches for the door, opens it, and gestures for me to go into the house first. I take a step forward, but then his arm shoots out, blocking the way.
“We can’t break tradition, not right after getting married.”
And before I have time to think about what he’s talking about, he scoops me up in his arms and carries me across the threshold.
I’m tired enough that I think it’s funny, and I cackle like a deranged hyena. He grins and starts laughing with me.
“Stop it. You’ll make me drop you.”
