Page 9 of Catching Her Heart (Austin Stars Baseball RomCom #2)

I'm standing in the bridal suite at the chapel in the middle of town, staring at my reflection in the full-length mirror, when chaos descends in the form of Kathleen Brennan carrying what appears to be enough food to feed a small army.

"Piper, sweetheart!" she bustles through the door, arms laden with a massive wicker basket. "I brought emergency snacks. You can't get married on an empty stomach. Did you eat breakfast? You look pale. Are you eating enough? Here, have a muffin."

Before I can protest, she's thrust a blueberry muffin into my hands and is unpacking the basket with the efficiency of a military quartermaster.

"Mom," Bridget says, appearing behind her with my veil draped over her arm, "the ceremony isn't for two hours. She's not going to starve."

"You never know," Kathleen insists, arranging sandwiches and fruit on every available surface. "Wedding nerves can make you forget to eat, and then you faint at the altar, and then the photos are ruined, and?—"

"Kathleen," my mom interrupts gently, stepping into the chaos, "breathe. Piper's fine."

I watch in amazement as my usually reserved mother takes charge of the situation. Over the past year, she's developed an impressive ability to handle Brennan family emergencies.

"Now," Mom continues, "why don't you and I go check on the flowers while the girls finish getting ready?"

"But what if she gets hungry?" Kathleen protests.

"Then she'll eat one of the seventeen sandwiches you brought," Mom says with a smile, gently steering her future in-law toward the door.

As they leave, I turn back to the mirror and nearly scream. "Where are my shoes?"

The bridal suite erupts into panic mode. Bridget drops the veil and starts crawling under the settee. My college roommate Sarah emerges from the bathroom with half-applied mascara to search the closet. Even my normally calm sister-in-law-to-be joins the frantic hunt.

"When did you see them last?" Bridget calls from under a table.

"I put them right here by the mirror!" I point to the empty spot where my beautiful ivory heels should be. "They were here when I got dressed!"

"Found them!" Sarah announces triumphantly, emerging from behind the dress bags. "They somehow ended up behind your backup dress."

I sag with relief and slip into the shoes, checking the mirror one more time. The dress is perfect—elegant but not fussy, with delicate lace sleeves that Ted specifically said he loved when we went shopping. My hair is swept up in a soft chignon that somehow survived the shoe crisis.

That's when the door opens again and Nana Brennan shuffles in, resplendent in her lavender mother-of-the-bride hat.

"There's my beautiful granddaughter-in-law!" she beams, pulling me into a hug that threatens to wrinkle my dress. "You look absolutely radiant, dear."

"Thank you, Nana. You look lovely too."

"Now," she says, settling into a chair and folding her hands primly, "I need to give you some important advice about married life."

Bridget and Sarah exchange glances. I have a feeling this is going to be interesting.

"The secret to a happy marriage," Nana announces, "is to never go to bed angry. And always wear something pretty to bed. Men are visual creatures, you know."

"Nana!" Bridget squeaks, her face turning approximately the same color as her bridesmaid dress.

"What? It's good advice!" Nana looks genuinely puzzled by our shocked expressions. "How do you think your grandfather and I stayed married for fifty-seven years? It wasn't just my cooking, I can tell you that."

Sarah makes a choking sound that might be laughter. I cover my mouth with my hand, trying not to burst into giggles.

"Also," Nana continues blithely, "don't let him leave his socks on the floor. Start as you mean to go on, dear."

"I think that's enough marriage advice for now," I manage, my voice slightly strangled.

"Oh, but I have so much more?—"

"Nana," Bridget interrupts desperately, "didn't you want to check on the corsages?"

"Oh my goodness, yes!" Nana jumps up. "I'll be right back, girls. We'll finish our chat later, Piper."

As she bustles out, Sarah and Bridget collapse into chairs, fanning themselves dramatically.

"Welcome to the family," Bridget says weakly.

I'm still laughing when I notice something tucked behind the mirror—a folded piece of paper with my name written in Ted's familiar handwriting. My heart skips as I open it.

Piper—

By the time you read this, you're probably in full-scale panic mode because something has gone wrong. But I want you to know that nothing that happens today matters except for the moment you walk down that aisle to me.

I've been thinking about the night we met, when you mistook me for the equipment manager.

You were so determined to get the real story, to find the truth behind the surface.

That's when I knew you were special—not because you were beautiful and smart or because you laughed at my jokes.

I knew you were special because you saw me.

Not the uniform, not the position, not the stats. You saw me. And somehow, you decided I was worth knowing.

Today, I get to promise to spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret that decision.

Forever yours, Ted

P.S. Look into your bouquet.

Tears blur my vision as I carefully unfold the tissue paper around my bouquet. Nestled among the white roses and baby's breath is the signed baseball Ted gave me that first night—the one I told him I'd treasure "for research purposes."

"Oh," I breathe, holding it carefully. "Oh, that's perfect."

"What's perfect?" Bridget asks, coming to look over my shoulder. Her face melts when she sees the note and the baseball. "Oh my stars, my brother is such a romantic. I'm going to cry and ruin my makeup."

"Don't you dare," Sarah warns, grabbing tissues. "We just got your eyeliner right."

I look at my reflection one more time, holding Ted's note in one hand and the baseball in the other. My hair is perfect, my dress is beautiful, and my future husband left me a love letter that made me cry happy tears.

In about an hour, I'm going to walk down the aisle to marry the man who thinks my clumsiness is charming, who trusts me with his secrets, and who somehow knew exactly what I needed to hear on our wedding day.

I tuck the baseball carefully back into my bouquet and the note into my clutch. Some brides carry something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue.

I'm carrying something that reminds me that the best love stories start with seeing someone for exactly who they are—butterfingers and all.