Too much and not enough.
“I can’t believe you two have been under my nose this whole time.” Harper returns, eyes sparkling. “Where have you been hiding him? Come on—we’ve got a break in the snow. Perfect timing.”
“We’ve just been sort of soaking it up since we started again,” Chloe says, following her toward the back. “It’s been a whirlwind.”
Understatement of the century.
I hadn’t noticedthe train of buttons down her spine, not until now. I can’t drag my eyes away. They’re supposed to look elegant, but my heartbeat spikes with how unexpectedly striking they are against the lace, the sight unexpectedly intimate.
“No judgment,” Harper is saying. “Whirlwinds can be fun. I hope you’re happy with this—I threw a little something together. Abby said this would be a quick ceremony, so I didn’t go too big.”
She pushes open the back door. A copper hexagon waits in a tucked garden, natural pines framing the mountains beyond. A fresh sugaring of snow turns everything into a winter storybook.
“Harper!” Chloe’s hands fly to her cheeks. “This is too much.Waytoo much. I can’t believe you did this.”
But I can translate what she’s really saying:I can’t believe someone went out of their way for me like this.
Harper meets my eyes over Chloe’s shoulder and gives me an almost invisible nod, while Chloe steps forward to investigate.
“It’s mostly pine,” Harper says, gesturing. “Brunia berries—those white ones—ranunculus, and pine cones. Simple, white, classic.”
“I can’t believe you remembered this.” Chloe beams, cheeks rosy with cold and excitement. She spins, turning her attention back to me. “We shot a wedding like this once,” she tells me. “I gushed over the arch and took a million photos.”
I want to grab her and tug her close, and kiss her for good measure. But I can’t, not yet, so I settle for a gentle touch.
“Brides are supposed to be excited,” I say, wrapping my arms around her waist and tucking her against my chest, burying my face in her hair. “Is that pumpkin I smell?”
She pulls away to tip her head back.
“Maybe,” she teases.
“Pumpkin isn’t winter.”
“It’s Thanksgiving. I’m still within fall jurisdiction. And I happen to love pumpkin.”
I’ve never been a fan. I’m becoming one—fast.
“All right, lovebirds!” Harper calls, waving us to the makeshift altar where a man in a black suit waits. “Let’s do this.”
twenty-five
CHLOE
Harper’s “Let’s do this”is still hanging in the air when my boots crunch over the snow.
My brain and heart are struggling to sync, and I suspect it’s because I’m still trying to convince myself this is all for show.
Only minutes ago, I was laughing about pumpkin and pretending this was all very sensible. Now I’m standing in front of a gorgeous arch in a snowy garden behind my favorite café, fingers laced with Aiden Wheeler’s.
If I’d been in charge of planning my own fairytale, it probably would’ve looked a lot like this.
Abby’s words ring in my head.“That never works, Chloe. They always fall for each other by the end.” “I want money on ‘married for real’.” “This is probably your only wedding.”
We’re not even close to the end. In fact, we’re barely at the beginning.
The officiant starts talking, but it’s like someone turned the volume down on everything except him.
A week and a half ago, I wasn’t looking for marriage—or even a boyfriend. I was trying to survive the season, drowning in an overbooked life from trying to shoulder it all alone.
