I bark a laugh, holding out my arms. Wendy steps into them, hugging me back, her light purple dress covered in a thick white coat befitting the weather.
Marigold sticks her head into the room, expression soft. “It’s time.”
With a nod, Wendy and I disentangle, the three of us making our way toward the back door.
Winter is blanketing Darling Ranch like a scene out of a postcard. The ground is covered in fluffy white, new snow having dropped while we were sleeping. Chairs are set out not far off, the woods near the petting farm their backdrop. One or more of the Darlings already shoveled a path through the snow, and footprints line the trail from friends and family who are waiting.
But it’s the man standing before it all that snags my attention.
Lawson’s slacks and jacket are an earthy brown, darker than my tan. Like me, he’s wearing a bolo tie, the sight of it making my throat close up for no conceivable reason, and a sprig of lavender adorns his breast. His belt buckle is showing, his hands are tucked in his pockets, and his hair, like usual, is sitting perfectly in place.
I’ve seen this man thousands of ways over our decades of life. I’ve seen him primped. Seen him wearing his rattiest sweats. I’ve seen him nude, wearing nothing at all.
But I’ve never seen him waiting to walk down the aisle with me.
Not until today.
My eyes prick as I join him, Wendy giving her dad a final hug and whispering something that has him nodding before she goes to take her seat. Our parents are standing nearby, but they don’t interrupt, giving us a moment before the ceremony begins.
“Hi,” I manage, the snow falling gently around us, dusting Lawson’s shoulders and hair.
His smile is warm, his inhale stuttering as his gaze runs over me. “You look real good, Oak.”
“You think so? Somebody wouldn’t let me put on a fancy tie.”
“You don’t need it,” he says seriously. “I like you best like this.”
“Looking like a cowboy?” I tease.
“Looking at home,” he replies, effectively shutting me up. Lawson reaches for my bolo tie, fist curling around the cords as he tugs me closer.
“Not sure you’re supposed to kiss me yet,” I whisper.
He huffs a small breath. “You gonna complain if I do?”
“Nope. Carry on.”
Lawson’s lips curl gently against my own, warm and familiar as he steals the breath from my lungs. It’s not lascivious or brash. But it’s demanding as Lawson’s grip holds me in place, the same way he’s always held me close.
When he loosens his fist and draws back, his whiskey eyes snag my own.
“I’m gonna be the best husband you’ll ever have,” I promise him hoarsely.
He snorts. “The only, Oak.”
I nod in a jerk.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Damn right I am.”
Lawson clasps his hand with mine, the clink of my jewelry on his making me laugh. He shoots me a wink as we get into place, our guests looking back at us now as music begins to play. Marigold and Hank walk down the aisle first, followed by my parents. It was our way of honoring tradition, just a little bit different. There’s no bride to give away today, but having our families here to celebrate with us means a lot.
Our parents take their seats in the front row, and Lawson looks over at me. Together, we begin the journey down the aisle. The snow is soft underfoot, Lawson’s hand snug in mine. We split apart only once we reach the officiant, Lawson looking a dream as the snow falls around him like twinkling pixie dust.
The thought has a smile curving my lips.
Our ceremony is brief. We didn’t want to keep folks out in the cold for long. But every minute of it is a minute I treasure, this day one I’ve wanted for myself all my life. At times, when my prior relationships came to an end, I wondered if I’d ever actually get it. A wedding of my own.
