Page 85 of Shifting Sands
My breath catches in my chest.
Brew goes first. He takes my other hand in his, anchoring us together. “When I first met you, Brandee Chatlee, you were the beauty sitting at my bar.”
Everyone laughs, and I do, too, tears threatening already.
“I didn’t know it then, but I was a drifter—a man racing his way through a busy life, never stopping long enough to realize something was missing. You brought color into my world, fire into my veins, and peace to my heart. You are my anchor, my home, and I promise to be yours. I promise to grow beside you and to always, always find my way back to you, no matter where the road leads me.”
A cheer breaks from the crowd—mostly the girls from Sandcastle Cove—and I squeeze his fingers.
I try to breathe, and then I speak. “Brew Cartwright,” I say, “you were the most unexpected detour of my life. I was just a mountain girl on sabbatical, not looking for anything, but yearning for something. And somehow, we found each other. You taught me to slow down, listen, and trust that things don’t need to make perfect sense to be perfect. You are the stubborn, sweet, infuriating, and incredible thing that was missing in my life. I promise to hold your hand on the hard turns and cheer you on in the straightaways. I promise to never let us lose our spark, even when the track gets bumpy. And I promise to always be waiting at the end of your bar.”
That gets an, “Amen,” from old man Willis.
Next we exchange rings. Brew slides the gorgeous eternity band on my finger and I tremble slightly as I place the black titanium band onto his. He doesn’t stop smiling, not once.
When the officiant says, “You may kiss your bride,” the entire crowd rises like a wave behind us.
Brew pulls me close, and the kiss we share isn’t just for show; it’s a promise. A pause between the end of our separate lives and the start of another one together. It tastes like honeysuckleand happiness, a culmination of every mile we’ve traveled to get here.
As we turn to face everyone, cheers erupt like fireworks. Confetti cannons blast gold and white petals into the sky, and someone revs an engine from the pits. Brewster Sr. nods his approval from the front row, and for a man who’s built an empire on horsepower and grit, he’s not afraid to show his softer side as he wipes away a tear.
We walk down the makeshift aisle as husband and wife, flanked by the people who mean the most to us.
Erin is crying into Taeli’s shoulder while Graham lifts his daughter onto his hip and shouts, “Go Team Cartwright!”
The reception is in the upscale Speedway Club, overlooking the track. It’s a swirl of laughter, Southern comfort food, expensive champagne, and every country love song ever written—a beautiful contradiction, just like us.
We escape for our first dance in the middle of the track as the sun disappears and the sky turns a deep purple with the stars beginning to twinkle like fireflies.
Brew wraps his arms around me as the music swells. “Are you happy, Mrs. Cartwright?” he asks.
A warmth spreads through me at the sound of my new name. I nod, closing my eyes and resting my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
“So happy,” I whisper.
The lights around the track begin to glow, one by one, as our guests start to trickle out to join us on the dance floor beneath the moon, which creates soft halos around the people we love.
There will be late night dancing and stories told over banana pudding, served in mini gold trophy cups, and slices of cake. We will create a lifetime filled with races, rest days, and road trips, along with mountain homes and seaside mansions.
But tonight, it all begins here—with love, laughter, and the two of us taking our victory lap.
Together.
