If the guys could see me now, they’d tackle me after I exit the church. Unfortunately, they’re all busy, though I do get calls, texts, and well-wishes, including one from Coach Hammer who asks me four times if this is some kind of prank.
The reception is in the Berghier’s garden and thankfully, nothing like our engagement party. Cat’s cousin Giselle has her parents bring a chocolate cake from Concordia, there are more flowers, and the little glowing lights on all the tables remind me of fireflies. There’s no sign of Gaston. I’m guessing he’s still cleaning shaving cream out of his car.
Cateline and I dance almost all night, and before it’s over, a little yap, yap, yap sounds from the driveway.
Someone shouts in French about a chin or achien, then I realize this is my cue and quickly settle the arrangement I made at the spur of the moment.
“Cateline, I got you a wedding present,” I say, snuggling a little white bichon frise puppy close.
She squeals with delight and gathers the dog in her arms as the little puppy’s tail wags uncontrollably. “You got this puppy for me?”
“Technically, she’s for us.”
The dog licks Cat’s cheek and paddles her paws in the air with excitement. “She’s a marshmallow fluff, a floofy floof of love.” Cateline says a bunch of words in French.
“She already has a name.”
“You named her?” Cat’s eyes widen.
“If that’s okay. Her name is Bijou. It means jewel.”
She laughs. “I know that, silly. It’s perfect.”
“It’s what you mean to me. You are the jewel of my life, Kitty Cat.”
She kisses me on the cheek and then fusses over the dog. “My little Bijou. Oh, but wait. I have something for you, Connor.” Cateline rushes inside and returns with a wrapped box.
I pull the ribbon and open it. Inside is a scrapbook with a photo of us on the front. I look closer and realize it’s one from @ChicksDigWolves and one of her side-by-sides.
“It’s the story of us, starting at the beginning.”
I flip through, finding mostly empty pages, but a few from our time in Intherness, then North Carolina. “And lots of room to make new memories.”
I kiss her on both cheeks. “I love it.”
“This has been the perfect day.”
“In every way.”
“There’s just one thing, where are we going on our honeymoon?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” I produce a letter that came this morning from the immigration office. I intercepted it when Mr. Berghier got the mail.
“Did you plan something?” Cat asks.
“Sort of. What do you think of a homey-moon?” I ask before I announce that her green card was approved.
She does a ballet leap into my arms, wrapping her legs around me. They’re like a pair of vices, but I spin her around and we cheer with excitement.
She expresses her gratitude and relief, then asks, “Wait, what is a homey-moon?”
“So glad you asked.” I wink.
39
CATELINE
After Connor’s thirty days in the Blancbourg program are up, we travel to the United States to do paperwork and for the First Annual Boston Bruisers Charity Ball.
