“I don’t care what terrible habits you have,” he mutters. “Leave your socks on the floor. Eat the last cookie. Burn the cabin down for all I care.”
Chapter Eight
Marshall
Two weeks after we’re married, we have our official wedding ceremony. It wasn’t the original plan. We were content with the courthouse, but our friends badgered and bullied us into having a proper celebration.
Scott and his wife, Victoria, handled most of the smaller details like chairs and catering. Jason begged Tabitha to let his new girlfriend be one of her bridesmaids. The proverbial player settled down faster than water in a shallow well. I’d be curious what magic his new woman cast on him but I’m too preoccupied to spare it much thought.
Locals fill the white chairs on either side of the aisle. Barb and Betty Anderson, the elderly troublemaking sisters are here as well as Sheriff Larson and his wife.
I thought myself a growly hermit before Tabitha, but looking at all the familiar faces in the crowd I realize that was untrue.
Sure, I might be grumpy, but I was never alone.
“Nervous?” Mark asks me as we wait at the altar with the preacher.
It’s nice of him to ask, but I know he’s not invested in my answer. All his focus is on the back door of the church. It’s no secret that Tabitha’s assistant has him bent out of shape.
“No,” I reply, but he’s not listening.
“She’s not interested,” Scott mutters to him. “She told Victoria she’s taking a celibacy break.”
“Shut up. Not everything is about sex,” Mark hisses back.
“Take a hint, you liar,” Scott fires back.
“Gentlemen,” the preacher says in a reprimanding tone.
My friends settle down like petulant toddlers. Jason wisely choosing to remain out of their spat. So long as they shut up when the wedding march begins to play, I don’t care.
If they ruin this day for my wife? Well, that’s a different matter.
We didn’t set out to have a traditional wedding, but Tabitha loved picking out her wedding dress and bouquet. She even refused to let me see the dress. My argument that we are already married was immediately dismissed.
The little botanist insisted it was bad luck. Apparently, scientists can be superstitious too.
Despite her claims that she’s horrible at making personal connections with people, she’s taken to Crescent Ridge and the locals with enthusiasm. There’s rarely been a day when she doesn’t meet up with one of her new friends.
Music begins to play through the overhead speakers and the doors open. Gillian, Jason’s new girlfriend, walks out first in a light blue dress. Shy and unable to look anyone in the eye she moves up the aisle at a brisk pace that doesn’t match the music.
Scott’s wife, Victoria, follows sedately, dressed in a forest green dress. Her matching green eyes locked firmly on her husband. An outsider would swear they’re the ones getting married today. Tabitha and her bonded quickly over academics and grumpy husbands.
Then Melissa makes her way up to the altar. She wears a warm smile, a bright orange dress and looks at everyone except Mark. I pretend not to notice how Scott jabs his elbow into Mark’s side.
Melissa might be Tabitha’s assistant, but she’s also her maid of honor. My wife might deny it, but the two women are closer than colleagues. I’m ninety percent sure that she followed my wife to this small mountain town because she didn’t want to be left behind. They meet for drinks and for coffee outside of work all the time. No one was surprised when Tabitha asked her to be her maid of honor. Except maybe Tabitha.
My breath catches when my bride appears in the doorway. She’s luminescent in a white ballgown with lace detailing that makes her look like a princess.
To think I might have missed the chance to see my wife like this. She glows as she walks down the aisle. Her green eyes gleam beneath the fairy lights overhead and along the walls. The bright pinks and reds of her bouquet are eye-catching, but I’veseen flowers all my life. Their floral beauty is nothing compared to my wife’s pouty pink lips or her red cheeks.
We’re already married, and there’s no reason to be nervous. But as she joins me at the altar, passing off her bouquet to Melissa, my hands begin to shake. Her wide eyes meet mine as she squeezes my palms. Her hands are shaking too.
The ceremony passes in a blur, and I barely register the preacher's words until he prompts us, and then Tabitha’s voice, clear and unwavering, fills the chapel. She squeezes my hands, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of us.
We wrote our own vows and as I listen to her, I can barely keep my tears at bay.
“I vow to love you to the end of my days. To grow with you and not apart. To make my accomplishments, ours, and your challenges, mine. I love you, Marshall. From now until the end of days.”
