As we walked through the garden, surrounded by friends and family and the warm buzz of celebration, I realized that Mrs. Chen had been right about something.
When you find something good, you hold on to it.
And what we had—messy and complicated and absolutely perfect—was definitely worth holding on to.
Even if it did eventually involve dragons.
Chapter 39
Theo
As the ceremony concluded and the newly married couple made their way back down the petal-strewn aisle, the crowd began filing toward the main building of the botanical gardens. The transition from the outdoor ceremony to the indoor reception felt like stepping from one beautiful dream into another.
The building’s interior had been transformed into something magical. I immediately suspected Matty, wearing a fairy godmother outfit, flitting about while sprinkling sparkly dust everywhere, just had to “gay it up” for the happy couple.
Exposed brick walls were draped with swaths of cream-colored fabric, while twinkling lights cast a warm glow over everything. Long wooden tables were arranged throughout the space, each one decorated with arrangements of white roses, eucalyptus, and baby’s breath in rustic wooden boxes that complemented the venue’s natural aesthetic.
Again, it was a woodworker’s dream, the perfect homage to Shane’s life work and greatest passion (after Mateo, of course).
But it was the cake table that drew everyone’s attention.
There were two masterpieces of the flour variety, actually, positioned side by side like complementary works of art. The first was traditional—three elegant tiers of white fondant decorated with delicate sugar flowers cascading down one side, topped with two groom figurines that someone had clearly taken great care to customize. One wore a tiny tool belt around his waist, while the other held a basketball under one arm and sported a whistle that dangled below his bow tie.
The second cake was pure Shane—a rectangular creation that had been sculpted to lookexactlylike a woodworking table, complete with wood grain painted in perfect detail across its surface. A faux miter saw made entirely of cake and fondant sat at one end, so realistic I had to look twice to make sure it wasn’t Shane’s actual equipment. Scattered across the “table” were tiny fondant tools—a hammer, chisels, and measuring squares—each one crafted with the kind of attention to detail that suggested the baker had spent considerable time studying Shane’s workshop.
“Holy shit,” Jeremiah breathed beside me, staring at the cakes with obvious awe. “Someone put some serious work into those.”
“Language, babe,” I murmured automatically, though Debbie was already distracted by the fairy lights overhead and probably hadn’t heard him anyway.
“That’sincredible,” Sisi said, appearing beside us with a champagne flute in hand. “Mateo’s been planning this for months. He wanted something that represented both of them—the traditional romance and Shane’s practical side. I knew it was going to be good, but this is . . . it’s insane.”
The reception was everything one might expect from a wedding planned by people who cared more about love than protocol. Round cocktail tables were scattered throughout the space for mingling, while the long rectangular tables were setwith simple white linens, mason jar centerpieces, and enough mismatched vintage chairs to seat everyone comfortably.
Shane and Mateo stood behind the traditional cake, both still looking slightly dazed by the reality of being married, while the photographer captured what had to be their hundredth picture of the day.
“Make a wish!” someone called out from the crowd of gathered friends and family.
“Already came true,” Mateo said, looking at Shane with the kind of dopey expression that made my chest tight with happiness.
They made the first cut together, Shane’s large hands swallowing Mateo’s smaller ones on the knife handle, both of them grinning like teenagers. The crowd applauded as they each took a bite, managing to feed each other without the traditional cake-smashing disaster that seemed to plague most wedding receptions.
“They’re so sweet it’s making my teeth hurt,” Sisi declared from beside me, though her voice was thick with emotion.
“Don’t get sappy on us now,” Mike warned, but he was wiping at his eyes, too.
As the happy couple moved away from the cake table to accept congratulations and pose for more pictures, I felt Debbie tug on my sleeve.
“Daddy, can I have cake now?”
“After dinner, Button. The grown-ups have to make speeches first.”
She sighed dramatically, the way only five-year-olds could when faced with the incomprehensible delays adults imposed on everything good.
The speeches wouldn’t make it into a Marha Stewart book on elegant weddings, but they fit the misfit group perfectly. Mikestepped up to the microphone first, adjusting his tie with the practiced ease of someone who’d clearly done this before.
“Good evening, everyone. For those who don’t know me, I’m Mike, Shane’s best man and the person responsible for making sure he showed up today instead of hiding in his workshop until this whole ‘feelings thing’ blew over.”
He paused for the expected laughter before continuing.
