I followed a rough-hewn stone path to the outdoor ceremony site. More than two hundred white chairs sat in a semicircle before a vine-draped arch. I spotted Shay’s husband off to the side and headed in that direction.
“This is your place, right?” I asked him, motioning to the grounds. “It’s incredible.”
“This is my wife’s place,” he said with a decisive nod. “I help her with it.” He pointed to a line of trees at the far side of the gardens. “Our farms and pastures start over there and extend around the cove and back over Windmill Hill.”
“I take it you do more than jam.”
He laughed. “Yeah, you could say that. I like having new projects on my plate.”
I slipped my hands into my pockets and rocked back on my heels. “Yeah, I know something about that.”
“We’ve been kicking around the idea of opening a tavern on a piece of land a little closer to town,” he went on. “A comfortable, local place. But those things take a ton of time and planning. And money.”
I glanced over at him. McKerry owned a pub in his hometown. Hersberler was a partner in a restaurant group in Baltimore. Since those two never shut up, I knew what these things cost. “Let me know if you want a silent partner.”
“How silent?”
“I just got married, bought eight soccer teams, and have a national title to defend. Really fuckin’ silent.”
“But you’d make time to show your face once in a while?”
“If it made my wife happy, I’d move here.”
He gazed at me for a second. “Then I’ll keep that in mind.”
I murmured in understanding and we stood in easy silence for several minutes. I didn’t get the impression this guy cared much for small talk. I couldn’t have been happier.
“Did the girls stay up all night?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No, they had waffles, watched a movie, and did something with face masks. They were out by two.”
“Waffles? Okay.” Noah pointed to the mobile phone in his hand, saying, “This group chat might kill me. He wants to know if we have fire blankets at home and if either of us have opinions on smoker grills. Did you see what he named the group?”
“No, I must’ve missed that. I’ve had my hands full since giving my wife a bloody nose last night in front of forty people,” I said.
Noah held up his screen for me. “He started with The Real Househusbands of Rhode Island, but changed it to Wife Guys this morning.”
I choked out a laugh. “Maybe he realized you’re the only one living in Rhode Island.”
“He’s going to change the name every day. I can feel it coming.” With a shake of his head, he added, “I don’t know how anyone has the time for all this.”
“You should see my family chat.” I opened my messages and scrolled through the new ones in the past day. Claudia was still busy posting headlines and pics from our wedding announcement last weekend. “My four sisters, my mother, and my grandmother are nonstop with it. I miss ninety percent of the conversation. More during the season. They don’t seem to mind.”
He ran a finger under his collar, nodding. “Then it’s not just me.”
I clapped him on the shoulder as the music changed and the guests started filing into their seats. “Nope.”
I grabbedtwo champagne flutes from a passing server and ducked away from the cocktail hour to find my wife. Grace and Ben posed for photos in the garden while Shay and Emme lingered nearby, occasionally stepping in to fix the bride’s dress or hair between shots.
“For you,” I said, handing Emme a glass. She all but snatched it from my grasp.
When I offered the other to Shay, she waved it off, saying, “No, but thank you. I need water first.” She dropped a hand to Emme’s arm. “I’ve got this. They’re almost done.”
Emme frowned. “You’re sure?”
She laughed. “This is the twenty-ninth wedding we’ve had here this year. I know the drill.” Pointing to the opposite side of the farm, near the barn, she added, “Take the long way around. We planted a load of sunflowers and hollyhocks over there.”
After a moment of discussion where Grace confirmed several times that she’d survive without her maid of honor for a few minutes, we took off toward the sunflowers. We passed a pair of tire swings hanging from a tree that had to be older than everything in this town and a cluster of rosebushes twined around the weathered frame of an old brass bed.
