I burst out laughing. “Your odds look good.”
“Time for the finale.” He lets go of me and walks me over to the rock and flicks on a lantern I hadn’t seen in the darkness.
Immediately, a chorus of answering flashlights light up beside the lake, dozens and dozens of them, forming the shape of a heart.
“Oh my gosh, Sawyer, how did you do this?”
“I had time while I was waiting for you to drive out here. I love you, Tabitha. I always have.”
“I love you too, Sawyer. And I always will.”
Epilogue
Future
Itrynottoroll my eyes, scream, swear, or otherwise melt down as my improvised “suite” full of women fusses over me. In twenty minutes, I’m supposed to get married.
Iwillget married. To Sawyer, the man I have not seen nearly enough of since our rehearsal dinner two nights before. I love these women. I do. But the “conversations” Sawyer and I have had in passing as we run from one part of the camp to the other this week getting it wedding-ready have not been enough.
Since he moved to Brooklyn last year, we’ve seen each other every day that one of us isn’t on a business trip. I hate being in the same place and having so little time together.
I have no fear about walking down the aisle shortly, but I almost wish we could get it plus the whole reception over and reclaim our time with each other. It has gotten more and more scarce the closer we’ve gotten to today.
Why didn’t either of us think to elope? Natalie’s fussing over me, and I’m kicking myself for never considering Vegas.
“I don’t know if there’s such a thing as boho glam, but if there wasn’t before, you just invented it.” Natalie says, stepping back from the tendril of my hair she’s adjusting.
Her six-month pregnant belly swells the front of her chiffon maid-of-honor dress. It’s a color called terra rosa, which just means somewhere between copper and pink, and it’s warm and perfect for a late September wedding. The color looks good on her and Grace both.
“You ready to see yourself?” Grace asks.
I nod. I’ve had a few fittings in New York, so I know what to expect in the dress, of course, but I haven’t seen myself in it with all the pieces pulled together. “I’m ready. Mom, can you handle it?”
But she’s already crying and waves a hand with a crumpled tissue to go ahead, unable to speak.
I pause before I turn to meet my reflection in the antique mirror we’ve brought into Sawyer’s—our—house to convert one of the guest bedrooms into a “bridal suite” at my mom’s insistence.
She’s why. Her happy tears. Her deep delight in helping me plan this. And Paige and Natalie, who have transformed the room in his—our—Oak Crest house over the last few days, filling it with subdued linens and soft vintage colors to create a calm space for me, clearing out the bed and setting up several makeup stations.
And Evie and Juniper, who sit in front of one, Evie patiently, Juniper less so, while Paige fusses over them. Each of them is now wearing an adorable flower crown for their respective flower girl and ring bearer responsibilities.
And Grace who says, “Go on, look. Oh, wait, your bouquet.”
These people I have loved for years plus the ones I’ve come to love more recently, they are the reason. Sawyer and I want to stand up in front of the people who matter to us most and move into the next phase of our lives together.
I take a quiet, calming breath, and remind myself of how grateful I am that each of these women is here.
Grace scoops my bouquet from a nearby table, her simple gold wedding band catching the light as she hands me the arrangement of bronze mums and Sahara roses. The ring is new, Noah having placed it on her finger only four months ago in a ceremony in Miss Lily’s rose garden where they met.
That’s part of why Evie is so patient. This is her second stint as a flower girl.
Bouquet in hand, I turn and catch my breath when I see myself in the mirror. I chose a simple ivory dress for our twilight wedding in Sawyer’s yard. It has a fitted and lightly beaded bodice with a soft V-neck and delicate spaghetti straps. The gauzy chiffon A-line skirt falls in gentle tiers to the floor, a small twelve-inch train behind it.
My makeup is simple, and so is my hair, the front in a loose side braid, the rest of my curls hanging long and loose the way Sawyer loves them best. But it’s my eyes that I notice; they shine, and I’ve never found a product that could make them do that. Only Sawyer can.
In a few minutes, we’ll head out to the yard, transformed into a lush autumn floral scape, and my father will walk me down the aisle on the petals Evie strews ahead of me, to meet Sawyer under our wedding arch, with Lake Lupine as our backdrop.
Our officiant will marry us in front of a hundred of our closest friends and family. And then we’ll belong to each other. There will be a million more details to sort out after the wedding, of course, not the least of which will be moving into the Brooklyn brownstone we’re going to remodel.
