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A ripple of laughter moved through the guests.

"And yet," he continued, "here we are. I promised to never rush you, to give you all the time and space you needed. In return, you've given me something I never expected to find—a home that exists wherever you are."

I swallowed hard as Lincoln continued reading from his journal, my eyes fixed on his face. His words washed over me, each one hitting with precision, like he'd spent years perfecting them just for this moment.

"You've taught me that family isn't always blood—sometimes it's a sarcastic witch and a martial arts-practicing rooster who makes the world's best biscuits and gravy."

Frosty puffed up his chest feathers, nearly dislodging the rings from his pillow. I shot him a warning glance.

Lincoln flipped to another page. "You showed me courage when you faced your sister, strength when you built our publishing imprint from nothing, and patience when I spent those months in New York."

My mind flashed to those long-distance video calls, the late nights editing manuscripts just to feel connected to him.

"But most importantly," Lincoln's voice softened, "you taught me that love doesn't have to be loud or showy to be real. Sometimes it's just showing up, day after day, even when it's terrifying."

Damn it. I promised myself I wouldn't cry. I blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall.

"Your turn," the officiant prompted gently.

I reached into a hidden pocket Marigold had insisted on sewing into my dress. "I didn't write anything down," I admitted, pulling out a dog-eared copy of one of our first published books. "But I edited this."

Lincoln's eyes widened in recognition—it was the fantasy novel he'd sent as my first editing project.

"Page forty-three," I said, handing it to him.

He opened to the marked page, where I'd circled a passage and written in the margin: This is us. This is how I feel about you. I couldn't say it better myself.

Lincoln read aloud: "'She never believed in fate until she met him—not because he swept her off her feet, but because for the first time, standing on her own felt stronger with someone beside her.'"

From somewhere behind me, I heard Marigold's muffled sob. Roger was probably taking mental notes for our next session.

"Also," I added, finding my voice, "I promise to stop pretending I don't read romance novels. But only to you. Everyone else can continue thinking I'm a literary snob."

Lincoln's eyes locked with mine, a mix of love and amusement dancing in their light golden-brown depths. The gathered crowd seemed to fade away as we stood there, our words hanging in the air between us.

"I knew you secretly loved those romance novels," he whispered, just loud enough for me to hear.

"If you tell anyone, I'll hex your coffee to taste like Frosty's molt water for a month," I threatened, but couldn't keep the smile from my face.

Speaking of my feathered familiar, Frosty chose that moment to clear his throat dramatically. "The rings, if you please," he announced in his most dignified voice. "Before my wings fall asleep and these precious symbols of eternal bondage tumble to the ground."

"It's 'bonding,' not 'bondage,'" I hissed.

"I know what I said," Frosty replied with a wink that sent ripples of laughter through the guests.

As Lincoln slid the ring onto my finger, I felt a surge of magic pulse between us. The moonstone at my neck seemed to respond, glowing with an inner light that matched the magical symbols beneath our feet.

"Did you enchant this?" I asked, examining the platinum band now nestled against my engagement ring.

"Not intentionally," Lincoln admitted. "But apparently our magic has other ideas."

From the front row, Zelda nodded knowingly. "Your auras have fully intertwined," she called out, abandoning any pretense that this was a normal wedding. "It's rare, but when two magical signatures are truly compatible, their magic becomes... enthusiastic."

"Enthusiastic magic. Great. That's all we need," I muttered, remembering the last time our combined powers had gotten 'enthusiastic' and accidentally turned all the town's streetlights into floating jellyfish for a week.

Roger leaned forward in his seat. "This is fascinating material for our next session, Chloe. The symbolic merging of identities while maintaining individual autonomy?—"

"Not now, Roger," I interrupted, fighting a smile.

Marigold bounced in her seat, practically vibrating with excitement. "I knew it! I knew from the first moment you two were meant to be! Remember when I accidentally-on-purpose scheduled Lincoln to stay in the room right next to yours?"

"Accidentally-on-purpose?" Lincoln raised an eyebrow.

"I might have manipulated the reservation system," Marigold admitted, not looking remotely sorry. "Best matchmaking I ever did."

The officiant cleared her throat, drawing our attention back to the ceremony after Marigold's matchmaking confession.

"By the power vested in me by the Magical Council of West Virginia and the mundane state government," she announced with a flourish of her hands that sent tiny sparkles drifting through the air, "I now pronounce you husband and wife." She turned to Lincoln with a smile. "You may kiss your bride."

Lincoln's eyes locked with mine, a mixture of disbelief and pure joy radiating from him. He leaned in close, his voice barely a whisper.

"Ready for this, Mrs. Sands?"

"That's Mrs. Woolsworth-Sands to you," I whispered back. "I didn't spend two years building my editorial reputation to?—"

His lips found mine, cutting off my sarcasm mid-sentence.

The kiss was gentle at first, then deepened with a sudden surge of emotion that sent a ripple of magic pulsing outward from where we stood.

The floating books above us fluttered their pages more frantically, and the moonstone at my neck grew warm against my skin.

When we finally broke apart, the room erupted in applause and cheers. Frosty strutted in circles around our feet, his chest puffed out so far I worried his tuxedo buttons might pop.

"That's my witch!" he crowed proudly. "I raised her right!"

"You did not raise me," I muttered, but couldn't stop smiling.

"I most certainly did," Frosty countered. "Who taught you to make a proper cup of tea? Who explained the birds and the bees?"

"Sweet Jezfucnuboobles, please stop talking," I hissed, feeling heat rise to my cheeks as Lincoln laughed beside me.

From the back of the chapel, a crash sounded. We all turned to see DeeDee from the diner standing over a toppled ice sculpture, her hands covered in what looked suspiciously like frosting.

"Sorry!" she called out. "I was just checking if the cake was properly chilled and... well, it wasn't the cake."

Zelda waved her hand dismissively, and the ice sculpture—which I now recognized as a rather impressive rendering of Frosty in his martial arts pose—reassembled itself.

"I commissioned that," Frosty announced proudly. "Thought we needed some proper art in here."

Lincoln squeezed my hand, leaning close to my ear. "Still want to elope?"

I surveyed the room—my chosen family in all their chaotic, magical glory—and shook my head. "Strangely enough, no. This is exactly where I want to be."

Lincoln led me through the crowd, his hand warm and steady in mine.

The renovated town square sparkled with fairy lights that hovered without visible support, casting a golden glow over the celebration.

Someone had transformed the infamous half-headless bear statue into a bizarre centerpiece, wreathing its remaining ear in enchanted flowers that changed colors with the music.

"Is that bear... winking at us?" Lincoln asked, squinting at the statue.

"Marigold's idea of wedding decor. She thought it would be 'whimsically appropriate' since you proposed right next to it."

"I still maintain the bear nodded approvingly when you said yes."

I snorted. "That's because Zelda enchanted it as a backup plan in case I froze up again."

The dance floor pulsed with supernatural energy—literally.

With each beat, the wooden planks glowed faintly beneath the dancers' feet.

I spotted Penelope Nightshade, our bestselling author of paranormal romance, demonstrating some kind of elaborate floating waltz with her vampire husband.

Nearby, Roger attempted to explain the psychological implications of dance to a bored-looking woodland sprite.

"Your publishing empire is well-represented," I noted, nodding toward the cluster of authors from our magical imprint. "Theo Blackwood actually put on a tie."

"Only because Augustus threatened to turn his next manuscript into actual fire if he showed up in ripped jeans."

We reached the edge of the square, slipping into the shadows beneath an ancient oak tree. The sounds of celebration faded to a pleasant background hum. Lincoln pulled me close, his forehead resting against mine.

"Mrs. Woolsworth-Sands," he murmured. "I still can't believe you're actually my wife."

"Believe it," I said, reaching into the hidden pocket Marigold had insisted on adding to my dress. "I have something for you."

"A wedding gift? I thought we agreed?—"

"You agreed. I nodded noncommittally."

I pressed a small, leather-bound journal into his hands. The cover was weathered, the pages visibly aged.

"Open it," I urged.

Lincoln's fingers traced the embossed initials on the cover—E.S.—before carefully opening to the first page.

"This is..." His voice faltered.

"Your grandfather found it in the attic. It's your great-grandmother Eliza's journal. The one where she documented her spell experiments for preserving magical texts."

His eyes widened. "The missing grimoire pages? The ones that were supposedly destroyed in the fire?"

"Not destroyed. Just hidden, waiting for the right publisher to find them."