“The girls won’t cry. It’ll be these two,” he says, standing between Heston and me with his arms around our shoulders.
Blythe breaks out in laughter, making the makeup artist who’s fixing her lip liner scowl. “Oh, for sure. And you. You’ll be the worst of them all, babe.”
I’ve never seen Heston cry before and I definitely count myself out, too. Unless Mesa slaps me in the face when I walk down the aisle, you can’t make me cry at a wedding.
Gage shrugs. “I might. I’m a lucky guy.”
Normally, I’d throw out a line like, “Pass me the nearest puke bucket.” Instead, I put myself in his shoes—a place I’ve never allowed myself to go before. If I were getting married to someone I loved as much as he loves Blythe, I might be acting the same way.
Truth is, heislucky. I can’t blame him for admitting he might shed a tear. He’s got a sure thing on his hands, and the rest of his life will be spent with someone who will fight as hard for a happy ending as he will.
It’s good to see them get the love they deserve, and I’m not at all jealous.
The wedding coordinator whistles to get everyone’s attention. “Two minutes, people!”
Gage slaps me twice on the shoulder. “Ready?”
I chuckle and pull at the cuffs of my suit jacket. “Aren’t I the one who’s supposed to be asking you that question?”
“No, I know how this is going to go for me,” he says proudly and runs his palm over his closely trimmed facial hair. “You, on the other hand, look like you might throw up.”
“I’ll be good,” I say.
Once I get to talk to her . . . I’ll be good.
Wade Farrow, Blythe and Warren’s dad, steps into the kitchen from the hallway—all red cheeks and sunken eyes—like he’s about to give away his baby girl. A good dad, doing good dad things.
I make a mental note to hang out with him more in the future.
Gage and he shake hands before us guys make our way out the door.
32
MESA
“Oh,come on. Seriously?”I huff as the side of my dress gets caught in the door of my car.
Music is already playing from the ceremony and I’ve barely just parked. Rather than yanking it and ripping the fabric, I open the door and pull my dress out of the way before slamming it closed again.
Heels and clutch in hand, I quickly make my way across the parking area. Once I hit grass, I take a deep breath and force myself to walk at a normal pace.
Past the bunkhouse is a small group of white chairs, neatly arranged in rows over a patch of sloping green grass. There are about fifty guests in attendance, and I’m the last one to arrive.
I pass by the guest sign-in table and laugh at an aluminum stock tank filled with ice, Southern Comfort shooters, and PBR cans. The temptation to grab one is strong, but I’m already running low on time.
If it weren’t for the random hair stylist showing up at my house about two hours ago, I’d have been early. Hattie Jo saw my lazy up-do over FaceTime this morning and wasnothavingit. Now I’m swiping strands of a bombshell blow-out away from my glossy lips every two seconds.
The dress, I’m totally on board with. It’s a summery sage green color, and not too short or low-cut. Just tight and revealing enough to trick me into thinking I may have missed my calling as a centerfold.
I smile at the old tree leaning to the side with a perfect cascading branch hanging directly above the altar. The altar itself is made of simple wood and streams of cream-colored fabric that gently billow in the breeze. There’s no telling how long it took the guys to clean this place up after the storm last weekend. With the incredible view in the distance and the minimal decor, the space is breathtaking.
When I’m almost to the seating area, the back door to the bunkhouse opens. Gage steps out, and I avert my gaze to pick up speed. I hop from one foot to the other while trying to speed-walk and slip my heels on at the same time.
After spotting an empty chair at the end of the third row, I duck past a photographer with her camera aimed at the bunkhouse and take a seat. It’s on the groom’s side and that almost makes me get up and move.
Do I belong with the bride’s guests? Probably, since I’m technically not Tripp’s plus one.
From where I’m at now, he’s going to be right in front of me on full display.
