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“It would be nice to turn our house into something like this,” River muses. “Maybe not a full-scale farm, but…”
Reese nods, already on board. “Some chickens, at least. Grow some crops. That’d be sweet.”
You look over to me and smile sleepily.
I smile back.
Your last twenty-four hours as a Nolan.
Deep breaths.
Gray breathed in deeply through his nose and adjusted his vest for the umpteenth time.
The pier had been cleared of people for the ceremony, and it belonged to them for a little while.
Ninety minutes was how long they’d been allowed to book the pier for.
Hard to think how much could transpire in such a short period of time.
Gray wasn’t allowed to see the pier yet. He was holed up below deck on Lincoln and Adeline’s yacht—with Abel—while Darius and his crew made sure everything was ready.
Gray wasn’t the biggest fan of yachts anymore.
Mom and Isla were out there too, helping out with Elise and Mary.
There’d be no chairs or anything. The pier wasn’t wide enough for that, so guests would stand along the sides. But Gray had accidentally seen an impressive shipment of floral arrangements when they’d parked earlier, so there was still plenty to do.
As long as Darius had the time to get ready after, Gray couldn’t care about it. He was so fucking nervous. Which he hadn’t seen coming after so much longing for this day to arrive.
“What time is it?” he asked.
Abel checked his phone. “Four-thirty.”
Fucking hell. Half an hour till the wedding.
Gray swallowed dryly and ran a hand through his hair.
“Don’t fuck up the hair.” Abel scowled and brought him a bottle of water. Then he went up to him to apparently fix his hair. “Do you know how hard it is to find a balance between freshly fucked and hey, I’m getting married today?”
Gray exhaled a laugh. It eased some of the pressure.
Holy fuck, he was about to become a Quinn. He was about to get married to the man who’d literally saved his life three years ago. The man who’d become Gray’s dream. The love of his life.
“I’m glad you shaved.” Abel smacked Gray’s cheek lightly before backing away.
Gray rubbed a hand over his jaw. His instructions to Darius had been to shave three days ago, because that would give him the perfect amount of scruff today. But Gray was going clean-shaven.
The soft motion of the water below them wasn’t helping at the moment, and Gray felt a little nauseated.
It helped to think about the wedding stuff, however.
“We got lucky with the weather.” That was something, at least. It was a great spring day in late April. Not too cold, not warm. Sunny, with just a light breeze. They wouldn’t have to worry about assembling a tent on the pier.
Weather—check.
And then everything else. Kids were with aunts and uncles, friends and family were about to arrive, Isla and Elise ran a tight ship over at the restaurant… The tables had been positioned according to the seating chart, white linen cloths covering said tables, Sergio was working the kitchen with his team, and flowers… Huh. Gray cocked his head, wondering if Darius was copying the theme they’d gone with inside the restaurant. Because the only flowers they’d ordered for the reception were white roses and…what did Mom call it…baby’s breath?
The rest was a buffet of what their mountains had to offer.
It’d been Mom’s suggestion.
“I don’t care about what some old book tells me a certain flower symbolizes. At your wedding, I want to see the place you call home, sweetie. I want the white roses and the baby’s breath on a bed of moss and ivy. I want little bouquets tied together with the hemp rope Darius uses when he hangs up your baskets of herbs. I want spruce twigs, pinecones, and the tiny wild flowers that’ve started coming up in April.”
Gray closed his eyes and focused on Mom’s voice.
Three years ago, when he’d been in the back of a van, he’d focused on her voice too. He’d pictured her face, her dimpled grins, and the apple blossoms in the background at the inn.
“Let’s get to the bottom of your nerves, buddy.” Abel stepped close again and put his hands on Gray’s shoulders. “Are we talking regular jitters or something else? Because you look like you’re about to hurl.”
Gray forced a chuckle and sat down in the little dining area. One of those booths that could be turned into a spare bed. “It’s just overwhelming,” he admitted. “Last time I was on a yacht—”
“Fuck! I didn’t think—”
Gray shook his head quickly. “Don’t. That’s not—the yacht isn’t the problem. I promise. It’s just the contrast—thinking about where I started and now sitting here.” He uncapped the water and took a small sip. “I’d given up, Abel. I didn’t think I was coming home.”
Those words were enough to make Abel look stricken, and he reached across the table and grabbed Gray’s hand.
