Not perfect.
Not polished.
Real.
And real is better anyway.
The reception is everything you’d expect:
Laughter spilling over wine glasses. Feet bare in the sand. Fairy lights blinking, same as the lazy stars overhead. The ocean humming in the background like an old, familiar song.
It’s wedding magic at its peak with a side of clusterfuck, just the way Rorie and Nolan would want it.
Deciding to raid the food, I catch Rishi flirting with Emily near the raw oyster bar. Like, full court press. Hand on the table, leaning in, giving her the kind of smile that probably got him voted “Most Likely to Be a Problem” in high school.
Emily, for her part, looks approximately one wink away from snapping a butter knife in half. Poor girl’s been mainlining mints all day and now she’s got Rishi tossing pickup lines like he’s training for theBachelor Barn.
Honestly, it’s excellent entertainment. I make a mental note to check in later. Purely for documentation purposes, of course.
And then—because this daycannotjust behave—I realize Maya and Asher are... MIA.
Gone.
Vaporized.
Not at their assigned table, not at the bar, not even heckling each other near the dance floor.
Hmmmmm.
Suspicious.
Very suspicious.
I take a long, slow sip of my drink and grin. If those two don’t, at the very least, make out in the dunes tonight, I’ll eat my boutonnière.
Jamie finds me again, slipping a fresh whiskey sour into my hand with a wicked grin that promises a lot and apologizes for nothing.
I’ll be finding a way to thank him properly later. But right now, I set my attention off him and toward the head table, where Nolan’s gazing at Rorie as she talks, the look in his eyes so stupidly in love it almost hurts to watch.
She catches him staring, blushes, and kisses him so tenderly it’s practically an art form. When they separate, he kisses her knuckles like she handed him the stars.
God, these two.
I raise my glass in a silent toast—to good timing, and the absolute shitshow of love when it’s strong enough to survive it all.
And with that,
To love that cracks you open.
To second chances.
To surviving bar bathrooms, boardrooms and broken hearts.
To choosing each other—again and again and again.
Some people spend their whole lives looking for it.
Some people crash into it when they least expect it.
Some people—the best people—choose it anyway.
And hell, if Nolan and Rorie can do it, there’s hope for the rest of us.
Especially if Jamie’s working the afterparty.
