MACKENZIE
T here was something about Wildwood Valley weddings that got me every time. Maybe it was the mountain backdrop. Maybe it was the fact that everyone in town somehow knew the bride’s middle name and the groom’s favorite kind of pie. Or maybe it’s just that the last few years had made me soft.
I was seated near the back row of the Wildwood Valley Wedding Chapel, right between two of the newer brides who’d arrived in recent months—each with that starry, swept-away look in their eyes I knew so well.
I didn’t say much, just smiled, kept a hand on my round belly, and watched as the couple at the altar sealed it with a kiss.
The bride looked radiant, and the groom looked stunned in that I-can’t-believe-she’s-mine kind of way. And the way the whole town had shown up? Even old man Coulter from the feed store had traded his overalls for slacks.
But the most interesting part? It wasn’t just who was getting married. It was how they ended up together. That was a fun, interesting story—even more interesting than the story of the way West and I met more than four years ago, and that was saying a lot.
When everyone stood to file out, I caught sight of West standing tall with the other groomsmen. He spotted me right away, winked, then held out a hand like he always did. Like he still did, every single day.
We didn’t rush to leave. We walked out last, hand in hand, behind the crowd and the chaos and the laughter.
“They looked happy,” he said, his voice low, just for me.
“They did.”
Our two-year-old daughter was staying with West’s sister, who’d moved back to town to help run the diner. That gave us an afternoon to spend time with our friends. With our son set to arrive any day now, time to ourselves was in short supply.
West glanced down at me, his fingers lacing through mine. “Can you believe this is our life now?”
I laughed softly. “Sometimes I wake up and expect to still be living out of a suitcase. But yeah…I believe it.”
The chapel stood just across the gravel road, sunlight hitting the stained-glass windows in a way that always made it look like a storybook.
It was a church on Sundays, but the rest of the week, it was used as an event venue and wedding chapel.
I’d been hired as the events coordinator, and it was the best job imaginable.
I even had a little office in back where I could schedule ceremonies while our daughter napped in the playpen.
And West’s diner? Thriving. He’d finally gotten that billboard updated, but really, it was the inn that was drawing people to town. The number of locals was also growing, and West and I were about to add yet another resident when Mac was born next month.
West tugged me gently toward him, resting a palm on the swell of my belly. “Think he’ll be a line cook or a preacher?”
I grinned. “Maybe both.”
We stood there for a while, just watching the last guests climb into their cars and disappear down the winding road. “I still remember the day you walked into my diner,” he murmured. “Standing there, looking all kinds of uncertain.”
“Pretty sure I was trying to run away.”
“Lucky for me, you didn’t.”
I leaned into him. “Lucky for me, you made me stay.”
And just like that, the chapel doors closed behind us. Another couple married. Another Wildwood Valley story just beginning.
And ours?
Ours was still unfolding.