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Ember with Doc. Haley with Warren. Clarissa with Leo. Peace with Blake. Libby with Holt.
It’s not hard to see from the way they’re looking at each other, love etched on their faces, that they’re reliving that heavenly moment when it was their turn to walk down the aisle together.
One day.
One fine day that’ll be me and Fliss, basically levitating as we look back on this day for the rest of our lives.
One at a time, the couples reach the pulpit and fan out on either side.
I’m restless as hell standing up here, waiting, but trying not to show it—especially since Eli’s already flitting around the corners, taking pictures like he’ll miss a royal coronation if he stops for a single second.
I’d offered for him to be the ring bearer, but he said he wouldn’t miss catching photos of this for anything. His gift to me.
And mine to him, I suppose, letting him chase after his perfect shots.
I also can’t help being nervous when my parents are in the crowd, plus Felicity’s mother.
The first time I met Harper Randall, I thought she’d hug me till I popped.
With the trip all the way down from Fairbanks, this is the first my parents have seen or heard Felicity besides a few texted photos and polite phone calls. Considering how they disapproved of my choices with Katelyn, I’m hopeful.
Really, really hopeful they don’t let the past screw today up and poison the well for years.
I know Fliss is a heartbeat away when Tara comes next in the procession—plus an entire entourage of flower girls. She’s a proud queen sailing along with the ribbons in her dress trailing behind her, flinging daisy and lily petals everywhere.
The Caldwells’ and Fords’ tiny daughters toddle in Tara’s wake clumsily, occasionally remembering to throw out a handful of petals crushed in chubby little fingers.
Andrea Silverton brings up the rear, struggling not to break the mood and laugh as she herds the waddling, adorable little girls along and keeps them on the right path.
Then.
Oh shit, then.
A pause.
A collectively held breath.
Every eyeball turns to those huge double doors as Clark the pyro holds them open, and Felicity steps into the room.
By some unholy miracle, I don’t keel right over.
She’s never, never, never been more radiant.
It fucking breaks me and glues me back together in the space of a whisper.
Her wedding dress is temptingly girlish, all sleeveless and strapless lace with a tight bodice bound just beneath her breasts by a violet ribbon. Delicate ripples of lace flow down to the floor like an inverted lily.
Her hair’s pinned up in a nest of ringlets, several trails cascading down her bare shoulders. The light catches on them and turns them into mahogany, cinnamon, copper, fire, chocolate, so many shades mingling with the little violet and white flowers woven into her locks.
I wasn’t sure if she was serious when she said she’d keep her natural look, but damn.
No—damn.
She doesn’t need any makeup.
The shine in her eyes, the blush in her cheeks, the joy exploding on her face all make her so beautiful, nothing could ever be an improvement.
As our eyes meet across the room, there’s no doubt in my mind that this woman will be my wife for the rest of our lives.
I can’t take my eyes off the shimmering glow of her gaze, holding me spellbound as she takes that processional walk up the aisle.
Then she’s there; then she’s with me, and every last hope and love and wonder I’ll ever have bursts out of me in a single soft word.
“Hey,” I whisper.
She smiles shyly, clutching at her lily bouquet hard enough to make it rustle.
“Hi, you,” she answers, ducking her head. “How did we end up here?”
“A black cat crossed my path,” I answer.
“Wasn’t it a fat orange one? And didn’t he go a little crazy?” she says with a wink.
“It was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me,” I say, emotion clawing at my voice.
She blooms for me with an unexpected giggle before the priest steps in.
I’m no stranger to weddings.
I’ve only been to over a dozen and done this once before, back in another life. None of it matters.
That was then and this is now.
This is new, this is all us, a fresh start.
I listen, savoring every word he speaks promising a lifetime of love, of support, of fighting for the future we want.
Somewhere in the crowd, I hear sniffling. Though I can’t take my eyes off Fliss, I actually recognize my son’s voice breaking, and catch a whisper of, “...this is so fucking amazing.”
Brat. I’ll let him off with that F-bomb this time.
Because honestly?
He couldn’t be more right.
There’s nothing more amazing than Felicity standing up here with me, more beautiful than a thousand summer nights, wanting me the same way I want her.
Holy damned Montana.
There’s nothing more fantastic than her little hands pressed in mine.
