“Hi,” he whispered back. “You’re stunning.”
“Your tie’s crooked,” she murmured.
He laughed softly. “I had help.”
The officiant cleared her throat. The ceremony began.
Vows were simple. Honest. No grand speeches, no overblown metaphors. Just two people promising to keep choosing each other, even on the days when choosing felt harder.
When Bree said “I love you”, it went into him like a vow she’d carved straight onto his ribs.
When he said it back, her eyes filled.
“You may kiss the bride,” the officiant said.
He cupped her cheek, leaned in, and kissed her slowly, with an intimacy he didn’t hide from the crowd. This wasn’t for show. This wasn’t for the photographs. This was the beginning.
The guests cheered. Someone popped the champagne early. Brian shouted something that earned him a fierce elbow from Colby.
Bree laughed into Hank’s shoulder.
“Married,” she whispered.
“Married,” he echoed.
Reception chatter filled the lawn. Tables covered in flowers, plates of food, and the kind of desserts only Lila could produce kept people drifting, eating, and celebrating.
Hank made the rounds, family member to family member. His mom hugged him until he couldn’t breathe. His father shook his hand, then surprised him by pulling him into a brief, awkward hug.
“You’ve done well,” his father murmured. “Proud of you, son.”
Her parents, niece, nephew, and cousins, laughing, swatting away her father’s attempts to interrogate Hank about the house’s structural integrity, surrounded Bree.
“He’s marrying an inspector,” Brian said cheerfully, passing by with a beer. “You’ll be fine.”
Colby floated between groups with the ease of someone accustomed to managing crowds. Several locals stopped him to ask about the firehouse. He kept answering with the same careful honesty.
“Beginning the transfer process,” he’d say. “Copper Moon’s been good to me. Feels like the next right step.”
Hank didn’t miss the way several women eyed him with interest.
Colby pretended not to notice.
Something twisted warmly in Hank’s chest. He knew exactly what awaited Colby next spring when tourists came to town, and they'd hopefully get super busy. Copper Moon would have no idea what hit it.
Bree appeared at Hank’s side as the sun dipped low.
“You doing okay?” she asked.
“Perfect,” he said.
“You sure? Because Brian and Tom are arguing about spark plug brands again.”
“That’s normal,” Hank said. “Let them fight it out.”
She smiled, then slid her hand into his. “Come with me,” she said.
She led him through the yard, past the barn strung in lights, past the tables where guests lingered over dessert. Up the porch steps and through the house, down the back hall, out the side door.
