She starts walking toward the lake, toward me, and every step feels like a closing of distance that should have never existed in the first place. I watch her expression shift as she takes in the faces around her, the people who showed up to witness this moment. Roz catches her eye and smiles through tears. Carlie presses a hand to her mouth, already losing the battle to keep it together.
My chest tightens in a way that has nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with recognition.
This is my person.
Carlie begins the ceremony, her voice warm and a little shaky despite her attempts at composure. She jokes briefly about becoming ordained online and promises not to improvise anything too crazy, earning a soft ripple of laughter that breaks the tension just enough. Then she grows serious, speaking about love that takes the long way around, about timing and courage and choosing each other even after loss.
Mason is called forward next.
He straightens visibly, lifting his chin the way we practiced, and takes his role with solemn determination. Each step he takes down the aisle is careful and measured, his eyes flicking briefly to Harper as if to confirm she’s watching. When he reaches us, he beams, proud and radiant, and whispers loudly enough for several rows to hear, “I didn’t drop them.”
Laughter ripples through the guests, easing the weight of the moment without diminishing it. I crouch slightly to thank him, and Harper presses a kiss to the top of his head, her eyes shining.
When Carlie asks if we’re ready to exchange vows, I squeeze Harper’s hands gently, feeling her squeeze back without hesitation. We’re ready for anything.
When it’s my turn to speak, the world sharpens into focus instead of blurring. “Six years ago, in this very spot, I fell in love with you.”
Her breath hitches as her eyes well.
I clear my throat, hoping to say this right. “And then, I spent six years trying to convince myself that I did the right thing by walking away. I told myself it was responsible. I told myself it was protective. I told myself it was necessary.” I shake my head slowly. “I was dead wrong.”
The admission feels lighter spoken aloud, like setting something down after carrying it for too long.
“Loving you was never a mistake. It was the best thing I’ve ever done. Today, I’m promising you that I will never walk away again. Not when things are hard. Not when fear tries to tell me I’m not enough. You and Mason are my family, my home, my everything.”
Tears slip down Harper’s cheeks freely now, and I feel my own throat tighten as I meet her gaze.
“I’m yours,” I say quietly. “Forever.”
When Harper speaks her vows, the world seems to tilt slightly, like everything is leaning in to listen. “Aiden, that night at this cabin changed my life. You made me feel seen, wanted, cherished—and then you broke my heart.” A soft, knowing murmur ripples through the guests, but she doesn’t waver. “Even heartbroken, I couldn’t stop loving you.”
She squeezes my hands, taking another breath through her tears.
“You showed me that real love is worth fighting for, worth waiting for, worth rebuilding for. You saved my business, but more importantly, you saved me. I promise to love you fiercely, to call you out when you’re being too grumpy, and to remind you every day that you are worthy of happiness. You, me, and Mason—that’s my forever.”
Something in my chest gives way completely, emotion flooding through me so intensely I have to blink hard to keep my vision clear.
As Carlie asks for the rings, Mason steps forward again, eyes wide with excitement and solemn pride. He hands them up carefully, then leans toward me and stage-whispers with absolute sincerity, “This is the mushy part.”
Laughter breaks gently through the ceremony. I needed that. Harper laughs through her tears, and I brush my thumb lightly over her knuckles, grateful beyond words for this moment and this imperfect, perfect family.
When Carlie finally pronounces us married, I pull Harper into me without hesitation, one hand cradling her face as I kiss her deeply, deliberately, like I’m sealing something that’s been building for years. Applause and laughter surround us, but it all fades into the background as her hands slide into my jacket and she smiles against my mouth, breathless and glowing.
The reception back at the cabin unfolds the way only the best nights do—loosely, joyfully, without any sense of hurry.
Someone fires up the grill, and the smell of barbecue drifts through the trees. Music spills out onto the grass as people kick off their shoes and dance barefoot under the string lights. Kids chase each other with glow sticks while adults cluster around picnic tables, drinks in hand, laughing louder as the sky darkens.
The firehouse crew has outdone themselves, decorating the cabin walls with embarrassing childhood photos of me that Garrett narrates far too enthusiastically, pointing out bowl cuts and questionable fashion choices with glee. There’s no rhyme or organization to our wedding party, so he takes the opportunity to raise a glass to us. “To Harper, the best woman any man could hope for. And to Aiden, keep your nose clean, your thoughts dirty, and don’t ever, ever forget how luck you are! Cheers!”
We raise our glasses with him, and Harper kisses his cheek. Might be the only time I’ve ever seen him blush.
Carlie cries through her entire speech, wiping at her cheeks and laughing at herself as she tries to get the words out. I can barely understand the words, but the meaning is clear enough.
When Mason insists on a father-son dance, he falls asleep halfway through with his head on my shoulder. I hold him there long after the song ends and put him to bed after. Before I know it, though, he’s up and out, searching for someone to make him another smore.
As the party begins to wind down, Harper and I slip away quietly, the noise dimming behind us as we walk down to thedock. We sit with our feet in the water, the lake cool against our skin, stars scattered overhead like the world decided to celebrate with us. Harper leans into my side, her head resting against my shoulder, and for a while we just sit there, breathing, letting the enormity of the day settle into something peaceful.
She shifts, then places a hand over her belly, a gesture so small I almost miss it. “So, I have some news.”
