I scrub a hand over my face. The sun’s barely thinking about rising. I’m half tempted to get up, start pacing, start checking a hundred pointless things just because it’s my wedding day and my brain won’t shut off.
But then Aria reappears in the doorway, peeking back in with her head tilted. “Daddy? Aren’t you getting up?”
I glance at the clock. It’s painfully early. Even the birds aren’t awake.
I shake my head and pat the mattress beside me. “Come here.”
She hesitates, like she’s unsure if she should or if she’s too old for this now. But then she crawls back onto the bed and snuggles right into my side, small hands fisting my shirt like she used to when she was little.
“It’s too early to do anything,” I tell her gently. “How about we sleep a little longer?”
Her voice comes out soft. “But… It’s your wedding day. Isn’t there stuff you gotta do?”
“Yeah. Later,” I murmur, brushing her hair back. “Right now? I just want a few quiet minutes with my girl.”
She relaxes instantly, head resting on my chest, breath warm through the fabric of my shirt. The kind of moment that cracks me open a little—the reminder that even when life changes, even when families grow and new love comes in, she’s still my first anchor. My heartbeat outside my body.
“You nervous?” she asks quietly.
“A little,” I admit.
“I’m not,” she whispers, already drifting. “Miss Ella’s gonna be perfect.”
My throat tightens. She always knows what to say without meaning to.
I hold her closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Go back to sleep, baby.”
“Mm’kay…” she mumbles.
Her breathing evens out, soft and steady against me, and I let my eyes close too, just for a moment. The world can wait. The ranch can wait. The wedding can wait.
Right now, it’s just me and my daughter curled up in the early quiet of a day that’s about to change everything.
And for the first time in a long time, I’m not rushing toward the future.
I’m letting it come.
By the time I’m dressed and stepping outside of my cabin, the whole property is buzzing. There are string lights woven between the trees, long rows of white chairs set facing the water, flower arches, and soft music coming from somewhere near the barn.
Ava is apparently incapable of doing anything halfway, because she turned the ranch into something straight out of a movie. From a distance, I see her holding a clipboard, bossing Beck and Jace around like a drill sergeant in stilettos.
I’m in a charcoal suit Hank insisted on buying me—said something about “family traditions” and “looking respectable for once”—and I’ll admit, when I catch my reflection in the window of the main house, I look like a man who’s ready.
A man who’s certain.
A man who’s lucky.
Inside the main house, my mom is already crying.
She clutches a lace handkerchief to her chest, eyes watering as she looks me over. She’s dressed in a pale blue dress she baked herself into—her words—and she hasn’t stopped sniffing since I walked in.
“My baby,” she says, touching my cheek. “Getting married.”
“Ma,” I murmur, embarrassed but also not. “Don’t start yet.”
“I can’t help it,” she sniffles. “Oh, Lord, I should’ve worn waterproof mascara.”
“Already crying?” Jace teases from behind her.
