“Good as you remembered?” he asked quietly, shifting his weight to her side and pulling her against him.
“It was f?—”
“I swear to god, Hanna, if you say fine?—”
“I was going to say fucking incredible,” she said.
He pressed a kiss to her temple, frozen in a moment they’d both so deserved, a moment that sent shivers down her spine but, for once, not of panic.
When Hanna woke up surrounded by a sea of ink, her heart did not sink like she’d feared it would on such a big day.
No, it held tight, beating steadily against his.
She could still feel the electric current of him as she showered, like a late summer rain washing over her, and she was still beaming like an idiot when she joined the bridesmaids for breakfast.
In fact, the beaming didn’t stop throughout the entire day. She’d worried it would crush her to watch Sara marry Matty without her mother’s commentary during dinner, or terrible dance moves at the reception. Her heart strained, of course, but it did not collapse.
“Hanna, honey, can I get your help?” Cami darted through the living room with her hair half done. Taylor zipped the back of Hanna’s dress, disappointed that Cami had interrupted the prior evening’s sordid details.
“The boys need help with their boutonnieres, but I need to get back in the chair. Berty keeps pinning them upside down and the florist is going to kill him.”
“I’m on it, Cami,” Hanna said, squeezing her shoulder. She darted down the steps of the back porch and out to the guest house, a round of whistles greeting her as she slipped into the French doors. Matty fussed with his boutonniere in the mirror as Berto battled the pin for the third, maybe fourth, round from what she could tell.
“I’ve come to release you from this torture,” she said, tapping Berto on the shoulder.
“Thank god,” Matty sighed. “He fucking stabbed me!”
“It wasn’t on purpose!” Berto insisted.
“The pin is bent to hell,” Hanna muttered, holding the purple-tipped pin between them. “Do you have extras?”
She glanced around the room, uncles and cousins cracking beers, but no florals in sight. Logan appeared from the bathroom, fixing his cufflinks.
“Well, shit,” he said. “Milo seen that yet?”
He pointed to Hanna’s dress. She couldn’t stop the smile from breaking over her petal-pink lipstick.
Logan held up a hand. “That’s all I need to know.”
“I’m looking for the florist,” Hanna said, holding the bent pin up to his face. “Boutonniere emergency.”
“Uhh, she’s helping my dad,” Logan said, gesturing to the deck out back. He pulled open the back door and followed her into another circle of navy suits. “Have you met her yet?”
“No?” Hanna asked. Logan’s eyes skipped from Hanna to the florist as she tucked a pin into Tom’s jacket.
“Janny,” Logan said, tapping her on the shoulder.
The florist spun, her bright green eyes widening and a warm smile pulling at her delicate lips. She looked different outside of her sun-soaked shop and in a cocktail dress—no apron in sight. She clapped her hands together.
“Sunflower girl!” she cheered.
“Oh my god!” Hanna’s skin flushed as she pulled the woman into a hug, shocked to see her standing next to Tom DeBrune. “You said you had a big wedding this weekend! I guess I assumed you meant some big fancy city venue.”
She patted her shoulder. “No! No, I meant big for me.” She reached up and tapped Logan’s cheek, squeezing it lightly as she spoke. “I’ve known these two since they were just boys. Wow, don’t you look spectacular?” She leaned closer and dropped her voice behind her delicate hand. “I hope whoever that guy was sees you in that.”
“You, uh, you know each other?” Logan said, looking between the women.
“Kind of,” Hanna answered, giggling as she turned toward him. “Logan, this is my florist.”
