Page 26

My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I’d iced a thousand cakes. Caramelized sugar to glass. Deboned a duck under pressure. But somehow, trying to attach a tiny pearl pin to the back of my hair felt like brain surgery in a hurricane .

“Deep breaths, bridezilla,” Carol said behind me, gently plucking the pin from my trembling fingers and doing it herself in three seconds flat.

“I’m not a bridezilla,” I muttered, staring at my reflection. “I’m just emotionally compromised and sweating through my silk.”

Carol gave me a look in the mirror. “You’re glowing. And if you call that sweating, I’d like to introduce you to what happened under my boobs during your last cake tasting.”

That made me laugh, just a little, which helped.

The bridal suite at the venue smelled like fresh peonies and hairspray. The old barn-turned-event-space had been transformed into a forest fairy tale — soft string lights, pine-scented candles, rich autumn blooms in every corner. It was perfect .

Giddiness shook through me; I was about to walk down that aisle and marry the love of my life. And I could hardly wait.

Carol stood behind me in her deep emerald gown — the one that showed just enough leg to make every man in attendance forget their names—twisting my veil into place.

“You ready?” she asked softly.

“Yes. No. Yes.”

She smiled. “That’s normal.”

Someone knocked on the door.

“Can I come in?” my mom’s voice said through the door.

I stiffened. So did Carol.

It had taken three months to thaw our relationship into something resembling civil.

She’d been invited, of course. I’d always known I couldn’t get married without at least trying to make peace.

And today, to her credit, she’d shown up on time, dressed in navy chiffon, and had only made two comments about how fast things were moving .

“Come in,” I said after a breath.

The door opened. Lisa Meade stepped inside, clutching a tissue and wearing a borrowed-for-the-day kind of smile.

“You look…” She blinked, tearing up. “Beautiful.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

We stood there for a beat, the silence awkward and heavy, until she stepped forward and took my hand. “I know we don’t… always agree. On a lot. But I’m proud of you. And I’m happy for you. Truly.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Thanks.”

“And if he ever hurts you, I will hit him with my car.”

Carol snorted behind me.

“Noted,” I said, blinking fast. “Let’s… not say that during the ceremony.”

“I brought something,” Mom added, reaching into her clutch. She pulled out a small, worn gold bracelet. “It was mine. My mother’s before me. I know we have different ideas about things… but I want you to have this. If you want it.”

I stared at it. It was simple. Understated. Not the passive-aggressive heirloom I’d feared. Just something… honest.

“I do,” I said, letting her fasten it to my wrist. “Thank you.”

She kissed my cheek—light, quick, gone in a breath—and then turned to leave. After the door clicked shut, Carol leaned in. “Did I just witness actual progress?”

“You did.”

“Should we celebrate or call in an exorcist?”

I laughed again—properly this time—and let out a long breath. “Okay. I’m ready.”

Carol squeezed my hand. “Then let’s go marry your bear.”

The first chords of You Are the Reason drifted through the autumn air, slow and aching and perfect.

The soft strings echoed through the trees lining the aisle, and every note reverberated inside my chest. Carol slipped out ahead of me, taking her place at the front.

She didn’t look back, but I saw the way she squared her shoulders—saw the way Gabe’s jaw clenched when he saw her.

Their eyes locked for maybe half a second, enough for the air between them to turn twenty degrees colder and ten times more electric.

I almost laughed.

But then Henry stepped into view, standing just outside the barn doors. A lump formed in my throat at the sight of him. He was one of the best parts of getting married to Patrick. I finally got the dad I always yearned for.

He looked… proud and strong in his dark gray suit with the tie I’d picked out because it matched the fall leaves. Just like what I needed right then. He held out his arm, and when I looped mine through it, he leaned close and whispered, “You ready, sweetheart?”

I blinked against the tears. “I think so.”

He looked straight ahead. “I always wanted a daughter.”

My throat clenched.

“I know,” I whispered.

“And I always wanted you to be her.”

Oh, hell. Not now, tears.

I swallowed hard. “Henry?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for loving me like that. Always. And I always wanted a dad.”

He patted my hand once, then cleared his throat. “Let’s go before I ruin your mascara.”

The barn doors opened wide, and in that second, I forgot everything else. I didn't see any of the guests who had risen from their chairs and turned their heads toward me, only him.

Patrick.

My bear. My heart. My impossible miracle.

He stood at the end of the aisle in a black suit that made his eyes look molten gold, his hair combed back with just enough mess to remind me he was still the same man who’d once kissed me behind the bleachers like we were the last two people on Earth.

Next to him, Gabe stood like a sentinel, stoic and resolute.

As if ready to ward off anybody daring to tackle his quarterback.

His jaw twitched when Carol shifted on her feet.

Their mutual glare could’ve lit dry grass on fire.

But they said nothing. Because even in their mutual dislike for each other, they recognized that this moment wasn’t about them.

Patrick’s eyes never left mine. Not once. Not when the breeze tugged at my veil. Not even when I tripped just slightly on a pinecone some kid probably dropped earlier. Strangely, all my nerves disappeared, just like the guests and the past.

It all fell away. Nothing else existed now.

Just him.

And me.

Henry placed my hand in Patrick’s and gave him a firm nod—one of those silent, meaningful, you hurt her, you die kind of gestures that only Henry could pull off with both warmth and threat. Patrick nodded back, eyes locked on mine like the rest of his world had faded to fog, too.

The officiant stepped forward, smiling gently at us. “We’re gathered here today to witness something rare and beautiful. A bond forged not just by time, but by choice. By falling, and by rising again.”

The breeze shifted softly around us. The trees seemed to hush, as if even nature knew to be quiet for this part.

Carol handed me my bouquet with surprising grace, though her eyes did flick sideways to Gabe just long enough to say Don’t ruin this, or I’ll strangle you with a centerpiece. He arched a brow in return.

Patrick gave my hands a little squeeze, just enough to anchor me back in the moment. I mouthed, I love you. He mouthed back, Love you more.

And then?—

Somewhere behind us, a whisper.

“Alex. Now. Go.”

A pause, followed by a very small growl. Then came the thunder of little dress shoes on packed earth, followed by a slight hiss, “Don’t drop the rings, Alex.”

A tiny blur of brown and beige barreled into view, Alex, our ring bearer—a six-year-old bear shifter whose mom was something like a second or third cousin of Patrick's.

He was dressed in a miniature three-piece suit, complete with a burgundy bow tie, and holding a little moss-lined pillow as if it contained the secrets of the universe.

He stopped halfway down the aisle.

Sniffed.

Dropped to all fours.

And promptly growled at a squirrel.

Everyone froze.

The squirrel, to its credit, launched into a tree with Olympic-level grace.

Alex bared his tiny milk teeth, grumbled something unintelligible, then stood up again, brushing off his knees like nothing had happened and continuing down the aisle like a professional .

Chuckles rippled through the guests. Patrick’s lips twitched from trying hard not to laugh.

Alex reached us with his chest puffed out, holding the ring pillow like a knight might a sacred relic.

He offered it up with two hands and a very serious expression.

“I didn’t even maul the squirrel.”

Patrick nodded gravely. “That’s very noble of you, Alex.”

“Thanks. I practiced.”

Then he wandered off to find his mom, who immediately crouched and hugged him like he’d just returned from war.

The rest of the ceremony went by in a blur.

Patrick kissed me, that's all I remember, that, and the loud cheers of our guests.

Then we were ushered away for some pictures.

We opted out of the congratulatory part; it seemed silly for people to line up just to shake our hands.

Instead, they approached us when we made our way to the tables where food would be served shortly.