Page 24 of Stitch & Steel
BELLA
Spring had never smelled sweeter. The mountain air was laced with wild lilacs, fresh earth, and something unnamable—something that felt like hope. Like new beginnings. Like the kind of magic you only get once in a lifetime.
I stood inside the tiny mountainside chapel in front of an antique mirror, my fingers trembling as I smoothed the lace overlay on my gown.
Outside, birdsong filtered in with the breeze, and I caught a glimpse of Scout sitting loyally by the chapel doors like he was part of the bridal party.
Logan swore he wasn’t trained, but I knew better.
That dog had more loyalty in one paw than most men did in their whole bodies.
"Gran, how do I look?" I asked, turning toward her slowly.
Her eyes, watery and shining with clarity, studied me like I was a painting. Not once did she forget who I was today. Not once did she falter.
"You look like you stepped right out of heaven and into this mountain chapel," she whispered. “And I remember everything, Bella. Every little thing.”
A tear slid down my cheek. “Even today?”
“Especially today.”
That moment will live inside me forever. More than the dress, the flowers, or even the vows—just the knowing that Gran was there . That she understood . That she got to see me happy, whole, and completely in love.
When the chapel doors opened and I stepped into the sunlight, the most breathtaking thing happened.
Five hundred butterflies soared into the air all around me.
Logan had arranged it as a surprise. Butterflies, he told me once, were a symbol of transformation.
Of things being reborn, of letting go of the old and making way for something beautiful and new.
It was the most poetic thing I’d ever heard from a man who usually spoke in grunts, orders, and bedroom growls.
The butterflies shimmered in the light as they lifted, swirling in delicate arcs above the chapel and the guests, brushing soft wings across my shoulders like a benediction from the mountain itself.
I laughed through my tears and caught Gran’s hand one last time .
Beside the church was the path she once raced by on the back of a boy’s motorcycle all those years ago.
The past and the present blurred and combined like water ripples—your reflection scattered at the tiniest disturbance. A memory. A touch. The sound of a song that played once on a summer night and never quite left your bones.
Sometimes, I couldn’t tell if I was standing in the now or watching echoes of the girl I used to be—heart splintered, dreams packed in boxes, driving toward a mountain with nothing but a prayer and a tank of gas.
But then Logan’s arms would wrap around me, strong and sure, anchoring me to this moment. To the life we built. To the fire we lit from nothing but ash and stubborn hope.
And at the end of that path—there was my man.
Logan stood in a charcoal suit, his kutte worn proudly over it, a single wildflower tucked into his lapel.
His eyes found mine and didn’t blink once.
Not when I cried. Not when I nearly tripped on the lace of my gown.
Not when the breeze blew my veil back and revealed the whole truth of me—heart open, vulnerable, ready.
He waited like a mountain waits. Still, sure, and entirely mine.
The ceremony was short. Sweet. Honest. Vows exchanged with shaky hands and trembling voices. Logan promised to never ride too far without taking me with him. I promised to love him in leather and denim and in the soft mornings when he brewed my coffee just the way I liked it.
We kissed under the wooden archway strung with wildflowers, and the whole mountain seemed to exhale with joy.
The reception was held in the same meadow where we first made love.
Only this time, the lanterns and string lights twinkled brighter.
The checkered cloths were replaced with ivory linens and centerpieces full of blooming peonies and blush roses.
A folk band played softly as the sun dipped low and cast golden streaks through the trees.
A breeze rustled the candle flames, and I danced barefoot with my husband under the stars.
Bear cried during his toast. Bullet held up a glass and honored Gran’s love story—her first, and mine. Kasey caught the bouquet, and the MC boys acted like it was a crime scene.
Gran held court in a rocking chair beside the fire pit, wrapped in a shawl Logan had hand-woven with our names stitched into the lining. Her eyes never stopped glowing. She never once forgot where she was or why we were there.
I think that was her gift to me.
A perfect day. One last miracle.
When Logan pulled me into his arms later, spinning me in the soft grass and whispering that I was his always , I believed him with every fiber of my being.
Because today wasn’t just a wedding.
It was the start of forever.