Nash Kimzey
I stare at his name for a second, then type before I can talk myself out of it.
Hey. I know this is short notice, but are you going to Vegas early?
The message sends.
I keep walking.
The hallway tilts slightly. Not from the dress, or the heels, or even the emotional wreckage in my wake. Just from the rush. From doing something reckless, something I wouldn’t have dared when I still cared about looking whole.
My phone buzzes.
Yeah, I think so. Why?
I’m thinking about heading out early, too. Maybe we can grab a drink.
If you’re still interested.
Then the reply comes in fast.
I’m interested.
It’s a date.
I stop in the hall, blinking at the screen.
A date.
I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. Maybe I was too wrapped up in someone who couldn’t love me out loud. Maybe I forgot what it felt like to be seen. But now? There’s someone out there who might want to help me finish that list. Someone who could make me believe I’m worth more than being Will’s almost.
And for the first time in what feels like forever, I smile.
Not the smile I wear like armor.
A real one.
I’m still smiling when I reach the bridal suite, where Connie and Ruby are standing outside the door, soft moans drifting from inside.
Ruby gestures toward the room. “Sounds like they’re going to be a minute.”
I shake my head, breath catching on something light. Then I laugh. And it’s a little wild. A little tired. But mine.
The wedding unfolds like a painting I’ve seen before. Everything is warm and romantic and perfect. I help Olive get into her dress. Button each pearl along the spine like I’m winding up a music box—delicate, careful, quiet. She looks radiant. The kind of happy that shines through her skin.
We take photos before the ceremony. Group shots. Posed laughter. I stand next to Will in one of them, our arms brushing. We don’t speak. But I feel him watching me every time I look away. And I keep thinking about Nash. About Vegas.
The ceremony starts. Music swells.
I take my place at the front, bouquet steady in my hands.
Olive walks down the aisle and Liam looks at her like he’s never seen the sun until now. The vows are sweet. Raw. Full of words I once dreamed someone would say to me. My throat burns. But I smile.
After they kiss and the crowd cheers, we walk back down the aisle, arms linked with our groomsmen. Will’s hand finds my elbow. Just barely. Just enough to anchor me.
I don’t look at him.
The reception is at Flowers End, glowing like a dream under string lights and candlelit tables. The music’s loud, the food is surprisingly good, and the whole place hums with love and champagne-fueled joy.
