“Your arbor’s good to go,” Colby said. “Bree’s dad helped me reinforce it. The wind won’t take it.”
“Thanks,” Hank said.
Colby leaned a shoulder against the wall. “You ready?”
“Yeah,” Hank said. “Surprisingly so.”
Colby’s mouth tipped into a small, knowing smile. “Good. Because you’re about to marry the kind of woman who’ll expect you to show up. Every day. Fully.”
Hank nodded once. “That’s why she’s the one.”
Colby squeezed his shoulder, then headed downstairs, where guests were beginning to gather.
Hank took one last look at the room. Their room. Clothes in the hamper. A mug with Bree’s lipstick mark still sitting on the dresser. A painting she’d done of the farmhouse leaning against the far wall. Life, in actual objects.
He felt that old ache, the one that used to whisper Don’t get attached. Today, it was silent.
He went downstairs and stepped out onto the lawn.
The ceremony took place beneath the oldest maple on the property. Jason had built a simple arch of reclaimed wood, and Bree had decorated it with white flowers, soft greenery, and a length of ribbon her mother insisted had been in the family for thirty years.
Chairs filled with people who’d become their unlikely Copper Moon circle stretched out in rows. Liz. Diaz. Lila. Tom from the marina. Even the antique shop couple had closed early to attend.
On the far side of the yard, both sets of parents mingled. Hank’s mother wiped her eyes every thirty seconds and insisted she wasn’t crying. Bree’s father kept clasping Hank’s shoulder like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hug him or intimidate him into behaving.
Hank straightened his spine when Bree’s father approached.
“You ready?” Roland asked.
“I am,” Hank said. “More than ready.”
Bree’s father studied him, then nodded once. “Good. My daughter deserves steady.”
“I’ll give her steady,” Hank said. “Every day.”
A slow smile broke across Roland’s face. “Then welcome to the family.”
Music floated from the speakers Colby had set up. Guests rose to their feet.
Bree stepped out of the farmhouse and onto the porch.
Hank forgot how to breathe.
Her dress wasn’t extravagant. It was simple, soft, flowing around her legs like something made to move with the breeze. Her curls were pinned back loosely, a few strands brushing her cheeks. She wore little jewelry. Just the small necklace Bryn used to wear, a gift from Charlie, who stood near the back, blinking furiously.
She looked like every moment of his future.
She looked like home.
Her gaze found his through the rows of people, and the nervousness he’d seen earlier vanished. Her smile grew, slow and certain.
She walked toward him with her mother, Mary, and her father at her side.
Hank swallowed hard.
When she reached him, she slipped her hand into his.
“Hi,” she whispered.
