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The rhythmic strumming of the banjo, the soulful notes from the fiddle, and the animated conversation around mouthfuls of delicious food filled the grand dining hall, making for a perfect backdrop to our ongoing celebration. Then, just as a new tune kicked up and a fresh round of laughter rolled around the table, I heard my name ring out over the dining room.
"Courtney!" The voice was unmistakable—it was Jenna.
I turned in my seat just in time to see Jenna and Dylan rushing through the grand archway of the dining room. They were slightly out of breath, their eyes wide and their cheeks flushed, but their faces were lit up with contagious excitement. Jenna clutched Dylan's hand, pulling him along with her as she weaved through the tables, her eyes fixed on me.
I rose from my seat, a wide smile spreading across my face. "Jenna! Dylan!" I exclaimed, the joy in my voice resonating around the room.
Before I knew it, they were at our table, their arms thrown around me in a group hug that was as warm as it was tight. We broke apart after a moment, each of us laughing as Jenna worked to catch her breath.
Jenna looked slightly sheepish as she explained, "We got lost trying to find the lodge. I swear Dylan here can't read a map to save his life."
Her teasing accusation sent Dylan into a mock protest, defending his map-reading skills amidst the collective laughter of our group. As they grabbed some food and took their seats around the table, their energy seemed to amplify the joy in the room.
Just as our laughter was dying down, Giuseppe reached into his pocket. He produced a well-aged Cuban cigar, a grin on his face as wide as the Grand Canyon. A flurry of anticipation hung in the air as he started to cut the cigar.
"No way, Giuseppe!" Ryder exclaimed, his eyes practically bulging out of his head. "Is that a real Cuban?"
"Indeed it is, my friend," Giuseppe replied with a flourish. His face held a triumphant gleam as though he had just pulled out a winning lottery ticket instead of a cigar.
As Giuseppe struck a match and lit the cigar, the smell of rich tobacco filled the air. A quiet fell over the table as we watched him draw in his first puff, savoring the taste like a sommelier would a fine wine.
With the cigar now properly lit, Giuseppe began to talk, his speech animated, his hands gesturing wildly as smoke rings billowed around him. He started to regale us with a story about his first experience with a Cuban cigar, his words painting a vivid picture that had us hanging on his every word.
However, the spell was broken when the maître d', a stern-looking man with a pencil-thin mustache, materialized beside our table. He cleared his throat loudly, causing Giuseppe to pause mid-sentence.
"Excuse me, sir," he began, eyeing Giuseppe's cigar with thinly veiled disapproval. "There's no smoking inside Ahwahnee Lodge."
For a moment, it seemed as if Giuseppe was going to protest. Instead, he looked from the maître d' to his cherished cigar, a look of disappointment crossing his face. However, instead of getting upset, he simply shrugged and pulled out a thick wad of cash from his pocket.
"Would this change your mind?" Giuseppe asked, his voice holding an undertone of mischief. He leaned over to the maître d', whispering something into his ear as he slipped him the cash.
The maître d's eyes widened, glancing at the money and then at Giuseppe. Then, as if on cue, he promptly pocketed the cash, nodded, and walked away without another word.
We watched in stunned silence as Giuseppe, looking rather pleased with himself, resumed puffing on his cigar and picked up his story right where he had left off.
Laughter rippled around the table as we marveled at Giuseppe's audacity.
As the night deepened, the Ahwahnee Lodge, with its majestic grandeur, was filled with more than the intoxicating aroma of Cuban cigars and bluegrass music.
Every smile, every shared glance was a chapter in the vibrant epic we had woven together, a saga that had found its crescendo in this grand celebration. A crescendo underscored by the lively melodies of a bluegrass band, their instruments harmonizing in a nostalgic rendition of 'Foggy Mountain Breakdown.'
"Shall we dance, cowgirl?" Brad playfully challenged, his eyes twinkling with mischief and joy.
A familiar warmth spread through my chest at his endearing teasing. Meeting his outstretched hand with a firm grip, I allowed myself to be led onto the makeshift dance floor. The world around us seemed to blur, leaving only the two of us swaying in rhythm with the melodic strumming of the banjo and the charming, rustic twang of the fiddle.
In the periphery of my vision, I noticed Giuseppe, Elana, Downing, Martha, Daddy and Jedediah swaying to the music, their hands clapping in rhythm with the jubilant strumming of the banjo. Their smiles and laughter added to the symphony of joy reverberating throughout the lodge.
The evening reached its zenith as Brad, always the performer, took center stage. A hush fell upon the crowd, all eyes turning to him as he cleared his throat, a roguish smile playing on his lips.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" He called, his voice bold. The twinkle in his eyes mirrored the warmth in his voice, a testament to the love he held for this motley crew of friends.
"We're deeply touched by this wonderful gathering, by the laughter, the stories, the dances, and most of all, by the love we've shared in this room tonight," he began, his gaze sweeping across the crowd, pausing momentarily on each familiar face.
"But as the saying goes, 'All good things must come to an end.' Well, at least for tonight." Brad's tone was light, yet his words stirred a poignant silence. He glanced over his shoulder at me. I nodded, sharing his sentiment.
"It's time for us, the newlyweds, to bid you adieu. As you might have guessed, we have some...honeymoon activities to attend to." He winked broadly, inciting an uproar of laughter and applause. Brad's hand found mine, and he gently squeezed it, eliciting a radiant smile from me.
"Goodnight, everyone!"
