Carter clears his throat. “Uh, Judge. Let’s start.”
He looks bewildered at everyone in the room and smiles nervously but returns his gaze to Carter. “Of course.”
The judge steps closer in our direction, as Carter and I have our daughter in our arms.
“We are gathered here today…” the judge begins.
“We can keep moving,” I suggest.
“Do you, Rosalyn Blisswood, take Carter Oaks to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
I smile brightly, and my eyes meet Carter’s in recognition that I’m confident and ready for this. “Yes, I do… again.”
“And do you, Carter Oaks, take Rosalyn Blisswood to be your wife?”
He squeezes me closer to his body. “I do… again.”
“Do you two have vows?”
Awkwardly, I chuckle. “Well, we’ll skip those. This little girl speaks volumes as to why we maybe don’t need vows. She’s symbol enough of our actions.”
“Rosie!” I hear my dad tsk from the side.
“Chillax,” my sister tells them. “It’s obvious what it takes to make a baby, and it’s their wedding.”
The judge’s brows rise, and I’m sure this will go down as one of his most unconventional weddings.
“Okay, so no vows. Rings?”
Carter and I hold up our fingers. “All good from the last round.”
“You’ve made this a little too easy for me.”
“That’s not them, but okay, we’ll play along,” Oliver states from the corner of the room and pretends to look away.
The judge smiles at everyone. “Well then. By the authority vested in me in the state of Illinois, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
Faintly, I hear the sounds of our family saying something, but I take no notice because Carter leans down until our foreheads touch.
“We can just forget the little blip that we were ever unmarried,” he whispers.
“We’re all mended now,” I promise.
His lips brush along mine, a mix of heat and a tickle, only soothed by his lips planting a soft kiss on my mouth. It’s nothing wild but powerful and sentimental. Pulling away, I can imagine the sparkle in his eyes must match a glimmer in my own.
And right on cue, our daughter begins to fuss before a full shrieking cry breaks out.
23
CARTER
SIX MONTHS LATER
Rosie gives methatlook. The one where she knows that a quick hello with someone will turn into a five-minute conversation, and every single time, she smiles to herself with pride. Now, she’s sitting by the window at Foxy Rox with our beautiful little daughter sitting up on her lap and gnawing on a rubber duck because the teething era is a bitch.
I turn my attention to Sara who owns Foxy Rox; I haven’t been ignoring her. She’s young and a small entrepreneur. “I agree,” I continue our conversation. “If state taxes increase, then we’ll have to see about city tax and what we can do to even it out for small businesses. It’s on the agenda for the next meeting. Feel free to attend to present your concerns.”
She sighs. “Thanks, Mayor Carter. I’m sorry to be keeping you from Rose and Cassie.”
