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She turned to the crowd and remarked, “I’m not improvising.” She turned the paper toward them. “It really says that.”
Everyone laughed and he nodded. “Keep going, Benny.”
She looked back to the scrawl of his words.
“From this day forward, I am yours and you are mine. I promise to remind myself of this most important fact every day and smile when you do it for me. I promise not to give up or run away when you make the kinds of mistakes that every man makes, and I promise to use my heart, rather than my ears, to really hear you.”
Sweet cookies and dildos, this guy had a knack for saying the right thing.
“I promise to rap my way through our days and beatbox for you each night because it’s times like those when I’m so…” She paused and glanced to the crowd. “I’m so…effing…adorable you can’t even stand it.”
Her amused eyes met his again. “You really wrote the F-word in my vows?”
He shrugged. “Adorable wasn’t enough.”
She shook her head, smiling, and continued, “I promise to keep you on your toes with my hair and my words and always stand up for myself with the backbone you love and expect.”
“And, I promise to be late as often as I want because you’ll always be waiting. But when it comes to lovin’—” Georgia stopped midsentence, giggling at her groom. “Kline, I’m not saying that in front of the minister.”
“Baby, you have to. They’re your vows, remember?”
She leaned forward, whispering something into his ear. His mouth twisted into a devilish grin and he whispered back.
Georgia turned toward the attendants. “Please feel free to cover your ears during this part.”
She cleared her throat, cheeks pink, and said, “I’ll come early and I’ll come often because the power of Big-dicked Brooks compels me.”
“I knew it!” I shouted. “I told you!”
Pfffft. I knew my cockdar wasn’t on the fritz.
Everyone in the crowd was a mixture of laughing, clapping, and wolf whistling.
Once we settled down, Georgia gazed at Kline like she would happily crawl inside him and stay there and said the rest of her vows.
“But most of all, I vow to love you with everything that I am, no matter the circumstances, because I know, from the very depths of my tiny, perfect being, that you will be there, doing your best to love me more.”
And when the minister told Kline to kiss his bride.
He motherfucking kissed his bride so good it made my toes curl.
“Congratulate me, boys,” Kline toasted with a glass of scotch in the air, the happiest I’d seen the fucking sap in ages.
His body was here with us, but his mind and his eyes were on his boogeying bride on the other side of the dance floor. The space was fairly small. At least, this room known as The Greenhouse was. They’d rented out the entirety of The Foundry out of nothing more than necessity. Kline liked to think his life was boring and normal and that no one cared at all, but the truth was they did. They cared a lot. And keeping such an important event completely private was the only way to maintain his happy little bubble of make-believe.
“That,” he said with a slightly tipsy gesture, “is my wife.”
I laughed and slapped him on the shoulder, exchanging smiles with Wes behind his back. I raised my eyebrows in question, and Wes gave me a pursed-lip nod of agreement.
“Go get her,” I urged simply, knowing he wanted to be with her a million times more than he wanted to stand here and shoot the shit with us.
And, regardless of what people might have thought they knew about me, that was fine by me. My oldest, closest friend had found it. Found her.
Always loyal and loving, I couldn’t think of anyone who deserved it more than he did.
“Benny!” he yelled, pulling her attention from the crowd of women around her to him. “Make room on the floor. I’m coming for my dance!” The wattage of her smile was blinding.
I stood next to Wes and watched as Kline danced his way over to her, pulling her into his arms and handing off his drink to the first, unsuspecting free hand he came to so he could hold on to her with both hands. Hands to her jaw and lips to hers, he kissed her in a way that I felt all the way in my stomach.
“Good God, he’s a goner,” Wes remarked, sinking into the wall and tipping his drink to his lips.
“Yep,” I agreed, thinking about the vows they’d exchanged during the ceremony.
“It’s nice,” I added without thought—because it was.
Wes laughed way harder than I thought was appropriate. “Jesus. Who are you and what have you done with Thatcher Kelly?” He morphed his face into what he thought was a good impression of me and mocked, “It’s nice!” with a wobble of his head.
