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The top tier is covered in a semi-naked frosting, allowing hints of the delicious cake layers to peek through, and is topped by a pair of lovebirds, perched on a delicate spun-sugar nest.
It’s almost too pretty to cut.
Almost.
We wait for everyone to gather around, and then we take hold of the knife together and slice into the luscious sponge. Then, we try to shove it down each other’s throat while everyone cheers and snaps pictures, as is tradition.
Garrett kisses the frosting from the tip of my nose and then raises his glass in a toast, and everyone falls silent.
“I want to thank every one of you for being here with us. Our parents, who worked tirelessly to help us perfect every detail. My brothers and their families, for filling the day with joy. My band, for rocking the wedding-singer vibe. And my bride, Ansley,” he says, his voice filled with emotion, “the love of my life and my partner in this incredible journey. I’m so grateful you chose me to be your husband, and I can’t wait to see what the future holds for us.”
Tears well up in my eyes as I raise my glass in response, and the room erupts into cheers and applause.
The rest of the evening passes in a blur of laughter, dancing, and heartfelt conversations. We are surrounded by love, and it feels like the stress and worry of the world have faded away.
It might have taken us three decades to get here, but my heart still races for that green-eyed boy who bloodied Toby Ballard’s nose under the bleachers in our seventh grade PE class.
“Wait right there.” Garrett hops out of the truck and sprints around the hood to get to my door.
“What are you doing?”
“Carrying my new bride across the threshold,” he says as he plucks me from the passenger seat and hip-bumps the door closed.
As soon as we make it up the steps and in the front door, he sets me on my feet, and his large hands settle on my hips. He kicks the door shut as he turns me and leads us into the living room.
His mouth finds mine immediately, and he hungrily kisses me as he walks me backward to the leather couch in front of the roaring fire.
“How did you get a fire started?” I ask between his kisses.
“Weston left before us and ran by to get it started,” he says as his hands slide down and around to cup my behind and bring me in closer.
“That was thoughtful of him,” I say, and I help him gather the skirt of my gown and wrap my legs around his waist as he slowly lowers us to the couch and comes over the top of me.
My head falls back against the cool leather of the armrest, and I reach and thread my fingers through his silky, dark hair and tug. He presses his body into mine, and the evidence of his need pulses against my stomach.
“I’ve been dying to get you out of this thing all night, and now, I don’t know where to start,” he growls as he fumbles with the tulle.
I bear up and twist, exposing my back.
“Fuck, that’s a lot of buttons,” he says.
His shaky fingers start at the top and plucks at the satin-covered buttons.
Frustrated, he starts yanking them loose. Several fall and ping against the hardwood floor.
“Garrett,” I cry.
“I’ll pay to have the whole damn thing resewn,” he says as he continues to pry them from my back. As the last one gives way, I turn to face him.
The warmth of the fire and the heat of him envelop me, and I start trembling with need. I decide I’m fine with that plan, so I plant my right foot and push up, trying desperately to get closer to him as he peels the gown down my body.
I arch my back, and the starch of his dress shirt scratches across my aching breasts. I slide my hands from his hair and down his back, the tips of my fingers digging into his muscles.
He lets out a guttural moan as his mouth runs down the column of my throat, sucking and nipping as he makes his way to my chest.
The need pulses through me, and I want to touch and kiss every inch of him.
I grip him tighter as his tongue explores the tops of my breasts that are exposed. An exquisite tingle shoots straight down my spine as he sucks a nipple between his teeth.
