Rescuing My Best Friend’s Girl

4. NEW BEGINNINGS

LUKE

The reception has finally quieted. After the laughter, music, and chaos of too much cake, the last guests walk out of the lighthouse yard, leaving only the glow of string lights and the distant hum of the ocean.

She’s standing at the edge of the yard, gazing out at the sea, the golden strands of her hair still catching the soft light of the sparkling decorations. She looks tired, but in the most beautiful way, her smile soft and content. The scent of salt and roses lingers in the air, a reminder of the bouquet she tossed earlier.

Just moments ago, Grace stood at the center of the crowd, her grin infectious as she turned her back to the eager group of women behind her. She lifted the bouquet high, then flung it over her shoulder with a playful laugh. The flowers soared through the air, and when they landed in the hands of a blushing bridesmaid, the crowd broke into a wave of applause and joyful shouting. I couldn’t help but laugh, watching Grace’s triumphant grin as she turned back to me, her eyes sparkling with joy.

As the night deepened, the guests began to slowly trickle out of the lighthouse yard. Goodbyes were exchanged, hugs shared, and congratulations whispered over the sound of the waves.

Grace’s dad clapped me on the shoulder as he prepared to leave, his usual larger-than-life grin softened by emotion. “You know, Luke,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, “she’s been my world since the day she was born. But I can see now—clear as the lighthouse beam out there—that she’s your world, too. Take care of her.”

“Always,” I said, shaking his hand firmly, my chest tight with the weight of his trust.

Nearby, Mrs. Carlson, who’d baked the cake, waved at Grace. “You two better not go anywhere anytime soon,” she called, her voice full of warmth. “We’re all expecting to see you around town!”

Grace laughed and nodded, her hand slipping into mine. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Carlson,” she replied. “We have no plans to leave Seabrook.”

One by one, the chairs emptied, and soon it was just Grace and me under the warm shimmer of the decorative lights—on the first night of our forever.

Lost in the rush of memories, I walk toward Grace, where she stands gazing at the horizon. Without a word, our hands find each other. The ocean stretches out before us, dark and endless, the waves a quiet rhythm beneath the lighthouse’s steady glow.

“Do you remember how we used to sneak up here when we were kids?” she asks, her voice soft, fingers brushing against mine.

“I remember everything about us,” I reply, the words slipping out easily, truthfully. “This lighthouse—it’s seen everything. The good, the bad, the in-between. And now it’ll see us build something even stronger.”

She smiles, her eyes glistening with emotion as she tilts her head to rest on my shoulder. For a moment, we stand there, the salt air wrapping around us like a gift from the sea itself. Her quick kiss on my check breaks the spell.

We find a small table off to the side and sink into the chairs, her hand slipping back into mine. The scattered flowers and overturned chairs around us tell the story of a day we’ll never forget.

Grace leans her head against my chest, as she whispers, “It all feels like a dream.”

“The best kind,” I say, my thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of her hand. “What was your favorite part?”

She laughs softly, her eyes bright. “It’s hard to choose,” she says, her voice thoughtful. “Probably our first dance. I can’t believe you remembered the first song we danced to in high school. When the emcee announced it and the band started playing ‘My Heart Will Go On,’ it felt like the world stopped.” She pauses, glancing at me with a soft smile. “You held me like you never wanted to let go. It felt like we were teenagers again, swaying under the stars.”

“I’ll never forget that,” I say, meeting her gaze. “Hearing that song brought back everything—the promises, the dreams we had. And dancing with you tonight … It felt like the pieces of our story falling flawlessly into place.”

Applause had broken out as we stepped onto dance floor together, the glow of string lights reflecting in her eyes. The crowd fell silent, their attention solely on us. Her hands rested lightly on my shoulders, and I wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her close. For a moment, it felt like the first time we danced, swaying under the stars and dreaming about forever.

“You remembered,” she’d murmured, her voice laden with feeling.

“I could never forget,” I’d said. “It’s always been our song.”

As we moved, the melody washed over us, each note carrying memories of simpler times and the promise of what was to come. Around us, the crowd faded into a blur, their smiles and cheers blending with the music.

Now, she tightens her grip on my hand. “I’ll never forget the way you looked at me. Like I was the center of your universe.”

“Because you are. And I am so much more over the moon in love with you now than I was then, although that feels impossible.”

“You have a way with words, Luke Thompson.”

“Only because you inspire them, Mrs. Thompson,” I say, leaning in to kiss her tenderly.

She blushes but doesn’t break eye contact. “And to think, that was just one part of tonight.”

I grin. “My favorite part was when the emcee announced our dance. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’” I mimic. “‘It’s time for the first dance between our newlyweds, Mr. and Mrs. Luke Thompson!’ It really hit me then that we are married now, sweet Grace.”

She laughs, and I can’t help but be drawn into her joy.

“There were so many other wonderful moments,” she says. “Remember when Dad spun me around on the dance floor and nearly made me dizzy. ‘It’s your wedding day, Gracie,’ he’d said, loud enough for everyone to hear. ‘I want you to remember that I was the first man you danced with.’”

I smile at the thought of her dad, always so exuberant and full of energy. Grace’s laugh softens as she adds, “And of course, I had to tell him, ‘Dad, you’re going to make me trip,’ while trying to keep up with his moves.” Her voice carries the fondness of someone replaying a memory they’ll treasure forever. “Then there was your mom dancing with Pretzel just to stay on the floor longer than Mr. Duncan. That was something else.”

Grace laughs again, the sound light and easy, and it makes me feel like I’m standing in the safest place in the world.

“Oh, Grace. Then there was my dance with Mom . . .” Her eyes had been glassy as I led her across the dance floor, the fairy lights reflecting in her tears.

“Your father would’ve loved this, Luke,” she’d said, her voice calm despite the emotion rising in it. “He’d be so proud of the man you’ve become. And of Grace.”

I hadn’t been able to say much, just nodded and let the moment speak for itself. Mom had been through a lot since Dad passed, but tonight she looked happy, even hopeful.

Now, looking at Grace, I feel a tug of gratitude for everything that’s led us here—even the hard stuff.

I watch her stand up from the table, unashamedly letting my eyes wander up and down my wife’s beautiful figure. She stretches slightly, her fingers brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and sighs quietly but with satisfaction, not fatigue. My heart swells, seeing her like this, shining with the joy of the day. How did I get so lucky? The thought runs through my head before I can stop it, and I find myself moving instinctively.

I step over to her quickly, scooping her into my arms without warning. She gasps, laughing as she clutches at my shoulder. “Luke! What are you doing?”

“Carrying my wife over the threshold,” I say, grinning. “You’re supposed to act surprised.”

She rolls her eyes, but the smile never leaves her face. “I think I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

“Too bad,” I say, pushing the door open with my foot and stepping into the lighthouse keeper’s cottage.

I carry her straight to my room, the familiar feel of her warmth in my arms anchoring me in a way nothing else ever has. Just down the hall from where she stayed while her summer rental was being overhauled, the room has transformed.

It’s our room now, not mine. Grace tilts her head up, her laugh soft and genuine as she teases, “You’re really leaning into this husband thing, aren’t you?”

“You have no idea,” I reply, my voice low and husky, full of the affection and desire I have for my new bride.

She looks around, taking in the changes she’s unwittingly inspired. Her fingers brush the lavender curtains I’d hung to replace the dark ones I’d had for years. Next to the window, the framed photo of us from last fall’s festival hangs on the wall, the one where we’re laughing so hard we forgot we were even taking a picture. A small vase of flowers and greenery sits on the nightstand, filling the room with the same scent that clung to her hair the first day she stayed in the lighthouse—wildflowers softened by the crisp tang of ocean air and the faint sweetness of honeyed vanilla. It’s delicate yet vivid, wrapping the room in a fragrance that feels alive.

Even the loveseat tucked near the bay window has a soft floral throw draped over it now—something she picked out, though she doesn’t know I kept it just because it’s hers. The bedspread, once an afterthought of dull navy, now carries her touch too: soft shades of blue and white that make the whole room feel brighter.

“It feels… like home,” she whispers, her voice laden with the quiet pull of nostalgia and hope.

“It is,” I say simply, though I know it’s not just the room that makes it home. It’s her. It’s us, together, filling every corner with the quiet resilience of shared love and the unwavering bond we’ve built together. Her eyes glimmer, and I can tell she feels it too. This isn’t just a place; it’s a piece of who we are now.

She leans into me as we settle onto the loveseat, the events of the day and the fullness of the last year catching up to both of us. Her head rests on my shoulder, her hair tickling my neck as her fingers trace lazy patterns over my arm.

We’re processing, breathing, and just being together.

I study the room, trying to see it from her perspective. I wanted to give her everything she needs to feel like this is a home that fits her as much as she’s come to fit here in my life.

That’s why after Coastal Enterprises backed out of their plans, I wasn’t going to let Grace handle her own project alone. Grace had been determined to salvage the summer. She has this way of turning a broken space into something that thrives, and I wanted to give her the space to do that—a place to work, to dream, to follow her passions.

“If the cottage is all I have for my research, I want to make it work.” Her voice had carried a hint of the disappointment I know she felt when she first arrived back in Seabrook and saw the place that was supposed to be a haven and a sanctuary for her marine research.

But I also heard the determination that I love about her.

So, we’d spent long days fixing the place up—patching the roof, replacing the wiring, eradicating the mold, and sanding down the floors until they shone.

I’d gone the extra mile, calling the owners to tell them about the state of the place. They hadn’t realized how much work it needed and offered to sell it to me outright. I didn’t hesitate. Over the following months, we’d worked together to make it a workspace Grace could truly use—a proper desk, shelves for her books and samples, even a small kitchenette and a bed for long research days, complete with entirely new pipes.

“You remember how those long days renovating your cottage reminded us of why we kept falling hard for each other again and again?” I ask, my voice breaking the quiet.

She lets out a soft laugh, but there’s no hiding the fondness in her eyes. What she doesn’t know is that the work isn’t done. There’s still the microscope she mentioned wanting, a custom tank I’m having built for her marine specimens—small details, but ones I know she’ll love.

She shifts closer to me, her fingers lingering on my forearm, a delicate touch that sends a slow heat spreading through me. When her voice drops, low and intimate, it feels like a spark igniting between us.

“Do you remember when you proposed?”

I grin at the memory. “When you didn’t let me finish my speech?”

She gasps, feigning outrage as she sits up straighter. “I was caught off guard! You dropped to one knee after a long day of sanding the floors of the cottage like it was no big deal. I was a total mess and completely taken off guard.”

My gaze melts into hers as I recall, “You were standing on the porch, the sunset making the water look like molten gold. I’d had the ring in my pocket all day, and I couldn’t wait anymore. I just … knew. I had to tell you everything I’d been holding inside.”

Her eyes speak volumes, holding the connection of our gazes without wavering. I reach my hand out to brush her cheek with my knuckles. She leans into my touch and closes her eyes, but not before I glimpse the expression she wears, a serene blend of pure contentment and unguarded joy.