The reception unfolds in the golden light of late afternoon.
Tables dot the yard. Food that Miss Maggie and Kitty spent days preparing covers every surface. Music plays from the same speakers, and fairy lights wait in the trees for when the sun sets.
Daniel’s hand finds mine every few minutes, like he needs to confirm I’m still there. Still real. Still his wife.
Miss Maggie’s toast silences the crowd: “It took these two long enough to stop arguing and start kissing. Lord help us when they have children—those kids will either be the most organized humans on the planet or complete disasters. No in-between.”
Laughter ripples through the guests. Daniel pulls me closer, his lips brushing my ear. “She’s not wrong.”
“About the arguing or the children?”
“Both.” His hand spreads across my lower back. “Though I’m looking forward to the practicing.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “Daniel.”
“What? We’re married now. I’m allowed to say things like that.”
Major Pecker makes an appearance then, strutting through the reception like he owns the place.
He passes within three feet of me and—miracle of miracles—doesn’t attack.
Instead, he pauses. Tilts his head. Then, with all the dignity of a decorated officer, he hops once and brushes his flank against my calf. Quick. Casual. Like it’s no big deal.
Then he keeps walking.
Daniel grins. “That’s basically a hug.”
Major Pecker disappears under the dessert table, having completed his social obligation for the year.
“We have an understanding.”
“What kind of understanding?”
“I don’t ask questions about his reign of terror, and he doesn’t draw blood.”
Daniel laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest. “My wife, the rooster whisperer.”
When the music shifts to something slow, Daniel tugs me toward the open space that’s become a makeshift dance floor.
“Dance with me.”
He pulls me close, one hand on my waist, the other holding mine against his chest. We move together the way we did at the lake, his boots shuffling against the grass, and I remember his mother teaching him this. Teaching him that a man who can dance is a man who knows how to listen to his partner.
“Thank you,” he says. “For Captain Winky. For all of it.”
“You gave me your horse. Your space. Your trust.” I look up at him. “I wanted to show you I could meet you there.”
His arm tightens around me. “You exceeded expectations.”
I smirk. “I do that.”
“Yeah.” He kisses my forehead. “You do.”
Over his shoulder, I catch Kitty’s eye. She’s wrapped in Tom’s arms, watching us with tears streaming down her face.
I love you,she mouths.
I love you too, I mouth back.
