Chapter 38
Jeremiah
The botanical gardens at Piedmont Park looked like something out of a fairy tale, which was probably exactly what Mateo had been hoping for. The unseasonably warm early-winter afternoon had painted everything in golden light that filtered through the canopy of ancient oak trees, their leaves creating a natural cathedral overhead. By some miracle of nature—or a zealous gardening team—azaleas bloomed in brilliant clusters of pink and white along the winding pathways, while beds of tulips and daffodils created splashes of color against the emerald backdrop of perfectly manicured lawns.
The ceremony site itself was nestled in a natural clearing where dogwood trees formed an archway so perfect it looked like it had been designed by a romantic novelist. White wooden chairs were arranged in neat rows on either side of a petal-strewn aisle, each one adorned with simple bouquets of white roses and baby’s breath tied with cream-colored ribbon that fluttered gently in the warm breeze.
At the front, a rustic wooden altar Shane probably crafted himself had been decorated with cascading arrangements of spring flowers—tulips, daffodils, and cherry blossoms that seemed to glow in the dappled sunlight. Hurricane lanterns hung from shepherd’s hooks placed strategically about, ready to provide romantic lighting as the afternoon faded into evening.
The whole effect was understated elegance with a touch of whimsy, exactly the kind of setting that would make two overly practical men feel comfortable saying the most impractical, beautiful words in the English language to each other.
“This is so pretty!” Debbie gasped as we made our way along the garden path, her hand firmly clasped in mine while Theo walked beside us, looking handsome enough in his navy suit to make me forget my own nerves.
Almost.
“It really is,” I agreed, though my attention was more focused on the clusters of people already gathering nearby. Familiar faces mixed with others I didn’t recognize—family members and friends from different parts of Shane’s and Mateo’s lives, all converging to witness something I was still having trouble wrapping my head around.
Two of our best friends were getting married.
And I was here with my boyfriend and his daughter—ourdaughter, she would correct me every time I got that wrong—as part of their chosen family.
The thought should have been purely happy, but there was a flutter of anxiety in my chest that I couldn’t quite shake. This would be the first time we met everyone together, the first time I’d have to navigate introducing them as . . . what, exactly?
My boyfriend and his kid?
My family?
The word still felt too big, too new, even after everything we’d been through with the adoption hearing a couple of weeks earlier.
“Willie Wee, you’re doing the face thing,” Debbie announced, peering up at me with the kind of perception that five-year-olds wielded like a superpower.
“What face thing?”
“The worried face. Like when you’re trying to figure out if Cuddles is going to be nice or bitey. Oh, it’s like when Daddy’s hands get all twitchy, too. You both have your funny things. Are all big people silly like you two?”
Theo chuckled beside me. “She’s right. You look like you’re about to face down a golden retriever demon dragon with nothing but a shrimp fork.”
“I’m fine,” I said, then immediately realized how unconvincing it sounded. “It’s just . . . meeting the whole gang at once. It’s a lot.”
Theo stopped walking and turned to face me, his expression softening. “Hey, you. These are your friends. They love you . . . and anyone who doesn’t immediately fall in love with this little monster”—he gestured to Debbie, who preened at being called a monster—“clearly has questionable judgment.”
Before I could respond, a familiar voice cut through the garden air with all the subtlety of a foghorn.
“Well, would you look at what the cat dragged in!”
We turned to find Mrs. Henderson approaching, resplendent in what could only be described as tactical tartan—a dress that somehow managed to incorporate three different plaid patterns without actually causing retinal damage. Her silver hair was arranged in an elaborate updo that defied both gravity and good sense, and she carried herself with the bearing of someone who knew she was the most interesting person at any gathering, even someone else’s wedding.
“Mrs. H,” I said, stepping forward to give her a careful hug. “You look . . . wow.”
“Don’t you ‘wow’ me, young man. I look fucking spectacular, and we both know it.” She pulled back to study me with sharp eyes that missed nothing. “And this must be the famous librarian I’ve heard so much about.”
She turned her attention to Theo, who had gone slightly pale at her approach. He’d met Mrs. H when they did their shenanigan planning, but no amount of preparation could ready someone for the full Henderson experience.
“Mrs. Henderson,” he said, extending his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard so many stories—”
“Oh, have you now?” She ignored his outstretched hand and pulled him into a hug that looked like it might crack ribs. “Well, let me tell you something, Theodore. Any man who can put up with this overgrown golden retriever”—she jerked her thumb in my direction—“and still look at him like he hung the moon is all right in my book.”
“I don’t look at him like—” I started to protest.
