The freshly shaved smoothness of his skin startled her. It sent a ripple through her, a dangerous thought blooming in her mind of where else she wanted to feel his touch. She quickly looked away, heart racing.
Kit bustled past, balancing a tray of glasses. “Pre-wedding cheer!” she announced. Each glass shimmered pink from the Heather Blossom Spritz—a mix of sparkling wine, wildflower honey, and just a splash of raspberry cordial, garnished with a sprig of thyme.
By the time they’d sipped their drinks, the wedding had begun. Edith and Hank kept their ceremony simple, standing beneath the garlanded gazebo with hands entwined. Hank looked every bit the proud groom in a light-gray linen suit and a pink bowtie that matched the spring blooms and ribbons in Edith’s bouquet. His polished black shoes caught the sunlight, and when he shifted his weight, the flash of bright red socks dotted with tiny hearts drew a ripple of laughter from the front row.
Edith’s voice trembled at first, then steadied. “Hank Bloomfield, you were my first dance, my first kiss, my first love.Life pulled us apart—we grew, we changed, we lived whole lives without each other. And yet…somehow, every road led me back here, to you. I couldn’t be happier to be here, by your side, for the rest of our lives.”
Hank’s throat worked as he swallowed hard. “Edith MacAllister, you have been the one constant in my life—even when you weren’t beside me. Through deployments, through marriages, through raising families, I carried you with me. You’ve always been the one that got away. And now—by some miracle—I get to call you my wife. I won’t waste a second of this chance.”
Zoe felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She hadn’t known Edith and Hank’s romance went back so many years.
When they kissed, the crowd erupted in cheers. Even the toughest men in town dabbed at their eyes with folded handkerchiefs.
The reception flowed into the spring evening. Lanterns strung across the garden swayed in the breeze, casting soft gold light. Tables groaned beneath platters of Kit’s mouthwatering creations and, of course, Edith’s famous shortbread. She had baked plenty, placing the cookies in little cellophane bags as favors for the guests.
It wasn’t just the food people talked about, though. Guests stopped at nearly every table to admire the flowers and gush over how gorgeous they were. Zoe kept catching snippets of praise as she passed:“Who did the flowers?”“These are incredible.”She handed out more business cards than she’d brought, fielding requests for summer weddings, anniversary parties, and even a fall fundraiser two towns over. More than one guest promised to recommend her to everyone they knew.
Maple Falls knew how to throw a party. Edith had hired the same band that played in the park on summer Fridays. They rolled from classic rock to slow ballads to the Scottish jigsEdith loved best. Children raced between chairs, their laughter mingling with the reel of fiddles.
“Mr. Jackson!” Emma’s voice cut through the music. “Dance with me!”
Zoe watched as Jackson laughed, scooping the eight-year-old without hesitation. He spun Emma across the grass, her pink dress ballooning as she squealed with delight. Gertie, sitting at a nearby table, chuckled and called over, “You’ll make a great dad someday!”
Jackson only smiled, shaking his head, but Zoe caught the flicker of something behind his expression. He probably didn’t want kids, Zoe thought with a stab deep in her heart.
Then Edith’s voice rose over the chatter: “A ceilidh! Let’s have a proper ceilidh!”
The band cheered in agreement, the fiddler launching into a bright, lilting tune while the caller’s voice carried above the crowd. “Take your partners—forward two, back two! Swing your lassies!”
Laughter and clapping filled the hall as couples got into place. Skirts swirled, boots thudded against the wooden floor, and the air pulsed with energy. Zoe barely had time to catch her breath before Jackson found her hand, his grip sure and warm as he pulled her into the dance.
“Left hand! Right hand! Turn your partner!” the caller shouted, and they did—spinning, laughing, half off-balance but perfectly in sync.
The heat between them built with every turn, every brush of fingers and pull of breath. His palm pressed against her waist to steady her, and her laughter faltered when he drew her closer, the music and noise fading until there was only the two of them and the wild, dizzy rhythm of being near him.
The music soon shifted into something slower, a reel that melted into a ballad, and Jackson didn’t let go of her hand.
“Don’t go,” he said, not a question so much as a quiet certainty.
Zoe’s heart gave a startled flutter. She nodded, and before she could think better of it, his palm settled at her waist, pulling her close.
His hand was broad and warm through the thin fabric of her dress. She placed her own hand tentatively against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath the crisp line of his suit.
They swayed, slow and unhurried. Neither seemed willing to break the fragile spell.
“You clean up well,” Zoe whispered, eyes flicking to the perfect line of his jaw, freshly shaven, and the way his tie sat just so against his white shirt.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Figured if I was going to be paraded around as the boyfriend of the most beautiful woman in Maple Falls, I should at least look the part.”
Zoe laughed softly, the sound catching in her throat when his thumb accidentally brushed against the curve of her waist. She inhaled, and his cologne reached her. It was something woodsy, threaded with spice, subtle enough she wanted to lean in and chase it.
Her gaze drifted to his lips, just for a second, before darting back up to his eyes. And oh, those eyes. It was a dark storm trained only on her. It felt like the whole world had melted away, leaving only the two of them, suspended in the glow of lantern light.
He twirled her suddenly, slow and deliberate, his hand catching hers with perfect ease as though they’d done this a hundred times before. She spun back against him, her back brushing his chest, his breath warm against her temple.
Her pulse skipped. The air between them was charged, every brush of fabric, every shift of his hand sparking like fire. Shecould feel the muscles of his chest rise and fall under her palm, feel the heat radiating off him in the cool spring night.
She knew she should say something, remind him, remind herself, that this was all for show. They would be breaking up soon. Their feelings were real, but Jackson’s pain was keeping them apart.
