Silently, I cry out to Him. I beg Him to reach her, to wrap her in His peace and comfort. To reveal Himself to her.
I love her so dang much it hurts.
Please, God. Please. Heal her. Do what only You can do.
An instrumental song begins to play, pulling me from my silent prayers, and I notice the pastor and David are at the altar.
The families of the bride, then the groom, are ushered down the aisle lined with rustic colored flowers. Next, the bridesmaids walk down the aisle.
My breath hitches at the sight of Hadley in the burgundy gown. It matches her signature lipstick perfectly. The top is modest, though sleeveless. It ties around her neck, sporting an open back from midway up. Her platinum hair is pinned into a low bun with curls sticking out in all the right places. As she passes me, our eyes catch briefly. I mouth “I love you,” earning an award-winning smile from her red lips.
I stare at her the entire wedding. Our eyes meet again and again, each time eliciting a soft blush across her cheeks and a small smile that she tries (but fails) to hide. I don’t hear the pastor, the vows, or the “I dos” at the end. All I see is Hadley. All I hear is the sound of our future unfolding before us.
I want this. Need this.
And I think I now know just how to properly propose to my best friend.
PullingHadleyontothedance floor of the ballroom (the venue was immediately transformed after the wedding to host the reception), I begin to show off my formal dancing skills. Granted, they aren’t as good as my line dancing, but I can lead and spin a woman around the dance floor. Especially when that woman is Hadley, who has had some classical training (thanks to her grandmama).
“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” I whisper to her as I tug her against my chest as the song slows.
She giggles. “Only a thousand times.”
“What about how much I love you?”
“Hmm, I guess I could stand to hear that some more.” Her fingers fiddle with the hair at my neckline. This must be a habit of hers while dancing, but I sure ain’t complaining.
“I love you,” I whisper against her ear once more. “I love you.” I kiss the space behind her earlobe. “I love you.” My mouth finds her jawline. “I love you.” A kiss on the nose. “I love you.” A feather of a kiss on her red lips.
“Time for the bouquet toss! All unmarried women to the floor please,” the DJ announces. Mary Anne dances to the center of the floor with her bouquet in her hand.
“Go get ‘em, Bully.” I shove Hadley away from me and towards the ever-growing swarm of women. I didn’t realize how many single women were here tonight. Maybe it wouldn’t have been as taboo as Hadley thought for her to come alone.
Though I regret nothing.
Mary Anne winks at me before turning around, preparing to toss the bouquet. She counts down from ten, and I watch as Hadley takes an athletic stance like she’s prepared to draw blood for that bouquet. I chuckle to myself, loving that feisty lady even more. My Bully.
When Mary Anne gets down to three in her countdown, I quickly make my way to the mosh pit of women. It was harder than I thought to shove through, but I make it just in time to stand behind Hadley as Mary Anne says one, turns around, and walks directly to Hadley, placing the bouquet into her surprised hands.
“Turn around,” Mary Anne says through her wide smile.
Hadley turns around, and comes face to face with me.
“What’s going on?” she asks, her blue eyes dancing like light reflecting off the ocean. “Are you proposing again?”
I laugh at her bluntness, but shake my head.
“Now that would be too cheesy.” I smirk, putting one palm face up in the air and the other hand in the rock position on top of it. “Here’s the deal. If I win this fight, Braxton’s Day is still on, and I can cash it in whenever I please. If you win, I give up my day to you. Deal?”
She eyes me warily, probably wondering what the heck has gotten into me to stop wedding festivities like this. Little does she know how I’m fixing to change her life as she knows it with my earned day from watchingTwilightwith her.
Yes, I plan to win this fight.
And I plan to cash in on my day as soon as we get back to Mississippi.
“Fine. Let’s fight.” Her hands mirror my own, except her right still sports the black brace. She doesn’t make full contact with that hand.
“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!” we yell in unison. Our words echo around the ballroom. She pulls scissors, as is typical of her first round, and I pull paper.
