Page 51

51

ALLISON

H is vows were good. Like, suspiciously good. As though he’s been stockpiling material and waiting to emotionally sabotage me.

But I’m not going down without a fight.

I lift my card and speak loud and clear, my eyes locked on his smug, pancake-stuffed face.

“Connor walking-red-flag Byrns?—”

“That’s not my?—”

“Shhhh. I’m in the zone.” I grin sweetly before continuing. “I vow to pretend to be impressed every time you flex.”

Elvis chuckles while Marilyn/Gary mutters, “I’m impressed when he’s not flexing.”

I try to hide my smirk, knowing Connor is irritated as fuck.

“I vow to love you even when you track snow through the house, eat all my snacks, and leave your hockey junk lying around. I vow to always be your partner in crime, your ride-or-die, your unpaid therapist, and the only person legally allowed to call you a dumbass.”

Gram snorts. “Ford may take issue with that.”

My voice quivers slightly when I get to the serious part. “ I vow to love you the way you loved me before I knew how to love myself. Even when I was impossible. Especially then.”

I hear Connor’s intake of breath, but I can’t look at him for fear I might cry.

“I vow to fight with you, and sometimes, against you.” I grin before continuing.

“To be your anchor, even when life tries to pull us under.”

I hear a few people sniff.

Exhaling a breath, I continue,

“I vow to scream at hockey games, make fun of bad rom coms with you, and build a life so good even Gram can’t ruin it.”

Gram rubs her hands together. “Oh, that sounds like a challenge,” she murmurs.

I ignore her and continue.

“And when you forget to take out the trash or leave your sweaty gear in the living room, I vow to remind you—with love. And possibly a baseball bat.”

Connor snickers while Gram mutters, “A baseball bat always keeps a husband on the straight and narrow.”

I smirk but keep going. “I vow to be your hurricane, your safe place, your home. And when you lose every single argument from now on, I vow to remind you of this. Daily.”

The crowd—thanks to Gram handing out coupons—erupts.

Gram screams like she’s at a rock concert.

Marilyn—aka Gary from Cincinnati—claps politely while dabbing her mascara-streaked cheeks.

Elvis nods solemnly. “Well damn. That was spicy.”

He turns to the judges. “Alright. Marilyn, Showgirl Wendy—thoughts?”

Wendy gives a watery smile. “I vote for the bride. She had attitude.”

Marilyn hiccups and says, “I like the tall one.”

It’s a tie.

All eyes turn to Elvis.

“I can’t choose.”

We look at Gram, who gives us an evil grin. “It’s a tie. You know what that means…”

Connor and I groan before saying in unison, “Dance-off.”