“I do. All of it,” Toby says, practically vibrating.
“Okay, then,” Fernando says, turning to me. “And do you, Pippin, take Toby to be—”
“You bet. Me too,” I say, through giggles. “I mean,I do.”
“Man, you guys are making this easy,” Fernando says, quickly scrolling to the end of his script.
“That was the whole idea,” I say, rising up on my toes. Toby meets me halfway, our lips connecting as the crowd around us whoops, cheers, and (in the case of Toby’s parents) politely golf claps.
“Well, keep on kissing the bride, I guess?” Fernando says, looking quizzically at his phone.
“Oh, the rings!” Mackenzie says.
“Right! The rings,” Fernando says, giving up and tucking his phone in his pocket. “You guys have the rings?”
I pull Toby’s simple gold band off my thumb, where I placed it for safekeeping, as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a matching thinner gold band, and with little fanfare but all the love in the world, we place them on each other’s fingers.
“Okay, then, by the power vested in me by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, the internet, and, uh, a perfectly legal park permit—I swear we’re almost done, Officers!” I look up to see a pair of Boston’s finest approaching what has become quite a crowd of onlookers. Toby and I look back at each other, wide-eyed and giddy, hands clasped; we’re both practically vibrating. “I hereby declare you husband and wife. You may kiss again and then disperse before we all wind up in a paddy wagon!”
It feels like the entire garden explodes in cheers as Toby pulls me in for a kiss to end all kisses.
Or maybe the first of a lifetime.
“I love you, Pippin Marino,” he says.
“I love you, Toby Sullivan,” I reply.
And then we stroll off the bridge, hand in hand.
