Page 120 of Grumpy on the Mountain

"You clean up pretty nice yourself," I whisper back, making him chuckle.

Pastor Williams clears his throat, smiling warmly at both of us. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the union of Molly Jennings and Beau Callahan, two souls who found their way to each other against all odds..."

The ceremony passes in a blur of perfect moments.

Beau's voice is steady and sure as he recites his vows, promising to love and protect me for the rest of his life. When it's my turn, I can barely speak through my tears, but somehow I manage to tell him that he's my home, my heart, my everything.

"And with your eternal vows complete, I now pronounce you husband and wife," Pastor Williams announces. "Beau, you may kiss your bride."

"Mrs. Callahan," he murmurs, like he's testing how it sounds.

A deep, satisfied grunt rumbles from his chest, and he grins.

It's not his usual barely-there smile, but a broad, devastating grin that makes my heart skip several beats. He takes a moment just to look at me, his steel-gray eyes drinking in every detail of my face in his hands.

"I like the sound of that," I breathe, catching the glint of my new sparkling wedding ring as my hand finds his chest.

"So do I, baby. So fucking much."

And then… he kisses me.

It's not soft and sweet, but deep and claiming and absolutely wonderful. The kind of kiss that makes our guests cheer louder and makes me forget we have an audience at all.

The reception is held right here in the meadow beneath the mountain peaks.

The space is transformed once again with more lights, elegant tables draped in luxurious linens, and a dance floor that Jamie's Mountain Rescue crew built specially for tonight.

Betty has outdone herself with the catering. There are dozens of elegant silver chafing dishes displaying everything from herb-crusted lamb that melts in your mouth, to delicate salmon canapés that look like tiny works of art.

Her famous dinner rolls sit in woven baskets beside artisanal butter sculpted into cute little roses, and the dessert table is a masterpiece of French pastries and chocolate confections that rival anything from the finest patisseries.

An endless stream of champagne flows all night like water from crystal fountains, catching the string lights like liquid gold.

"Speech! Speech!" Jamie Striker hollers, raising his beer high enough to slosh foam everywhere.

"Oh God, no," Beau mutters under his breath, making me snort with laughter.

"YEAH!" Jamie continues, moving to stand on his chair and pump his fist in the air. "SPEECH! SPEECH!"

"SPEECH! SPEECH!"

The entire crowd picks up the chant, and I watch my new husband's face cycle through pure panic, resignation, and finally determination.

He stands reluctantly, his hand gripping mine like I'm his lifeline. "Alright, alright! Shit. You people are relentless."

"Language!" Betty calls out automatically, which gets a huge laugh.

"Right. Sorry, Betty."

Beau clears his throat, his free hand running through his perfectly styled hair and messing it up completely.

"So... speeches, huh?" He scrubs a hand down his face again. "I'd rather wrestle a bear, but apparently that's not an option."

More laughter ripples through the crowd.

"Most of you know I'm not exactly... chatty," he continues, which earns him some good-natured heckling from the Mountain Rescue guys. "But this woman—" He looks down atme, his expression going soft and wondering. "This gorgeous, stubborn, city-girl-turned-mountain-perfect woman convinced me to join civilization again."

"Hey!" I protest, swatting his arm.