Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
LEVI
Rex has decided that his bow tie is a personal insult.
“Hold still,” Dean grunts, one arm wrapped around his German Shepherd’s chest while the other tries to clip the offending accessory to his collar. “It’s just for a few hours.”
Rex disagrees, loudly, with teeth.
I’m standing in the doorway of an upstairs room at Hensley House, watching my brother wrestle his dog in what is supposed to be a dignified pre-wedding moment.
Dean is in his dress pants and undershirt, his actual shirt hanging on a hook to avoid dog hair contamination.
It’s not working. There’s already fur on his pants, his arms, and somehow in his hair.
“Need help?” I ask.
“I need a sedative. For me or the dog, I’m not picky.”
Asher appears behind me, looking polished and calm in his groomsman suit. “He was fine at the rehearsal.”
“He wasn’t wearing the bow tie at the rehearsal!” Dean’s voice has reached a pitch I’ve never heard from him before. It’s almost funny. Almost.
The bow tie goes flying. Rex looks triumphant.
“Maybe he doesn’t need the bow tie?” Asher suggests.
Dean fixes him with a glare that could curdle milk. “Jo picked out the bow tie. Jo wants the bow tie. Rex is wearing the bow tie.”
“Fair enough.” Asher pulls something from his pocket. “Mads gave me these. The good treats. From that fancy pet bakery in Beaufort.”
Rex’s ears perk up, nose twitching.
“You’re kidding me,” Dean says flatly.
“Worth a shot.”
Asher kneels down, treat extended. Rex abandons his defensive position and trots over, tail wagging, dignity apparently for sale at the right price. While the dog is distracted by organic peanut butter biscuits, Dean swoops in with the bow tie.
Click.
Rex freezes, looks down at his collar, then looks up at Dean with an expression of profound betrayal.
“It’s done,” Dean says, stepping back. “Nobody make any sudden movements.”
Rex sits down heavily, the picture of canine suffering. The bow tie is slightly crooked, but it’s on, and that’s all that matters.
“I’ll take him downstairs,” Asher says, grabbing the leash. “Give you two a minute.”
He leads Rex out, and suddenly it’s just me and Dean, standing in a room full of afternoon sunlight and the distant sound of guests arriving below.
Dean runs a hand through his hair, dislodging a tuft of dog fur. “I’m getting married in twenty minutes and I just wrestled a German Shepherd.”
“Dad would’ve loved this.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. But Dean doesn’t flinch. He just nods, something soft crossing his face.
“Yeah. He would’ve.”
We stand there for a moment, brothers in a sunlit room, thinking about the man who raised us both.
“Thanks,” Dean says finally. “For going after her. Delilah.”
“You’d have done the same.”
“I almost didn’t, with Jo.” He reaches for his shirt, starts buttoning it with hands that are steadier than they should be. “Almost talked myself out of it. Told myself I was too old, it was too complicated, she was Asher’s mom.” He pauses, meeting my eyes. “Stupidest thing I almost did.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Neither did you.”
I think about the drive to Asheville. Four and a half hours on no sleep, running on nothing but coffee and terror. The cemetery, Delilah’s face when she saw me, like she couldn’t believe I’d actually come.
“She’s different now,” I say. “Something shifted. When I found her at that cemetery, she was ready to stay. Really stay.”
“Good.” Dean finishes with his buttons and reaches for his jacket. “Because you deserve someone who shows up for you too.”
Someone who shows up.
That’s what Delilah said, three days ago, tears streaming down her face. He’s here. He showed up.
“Come on.” Dean claps me on the shoulder. “Let’s go get me married before anything else goes wrong.”
The Hensley House looks like something from a dream.
I step out onto the back deck and stop short, taking it all in. White chairs arranged in perfect rows on the beach below, an arbor draped in flowers at the end of the aisle, the Atlantic sparkling behind it like God decided to add extra glitter for the occasion.
And everywhere, everywhere, there are flowers.
Blues and creams and soft peach, exactly like Jo wanted. Arrangements on every chair. Garlands wrapped around the deck railing. The arbor is covered in blush peonies with trailing greenery, so beautiful it almost hurts to look at.
Delilah did this.
My Delilah, who drove away three days ago and then stayed when I showed up at her father’s grave. She kissed me in a cemetery and promised to try, then spent the last seventy-two hours pulling together a wedding that looks like it belongs in a magazine.
I scan the crowd and find her immediately.
She’s near the front, adjusting something on one of the chair arrangements, wearing a soft green dress that matches the color of the marsh grass.
Her hair is up, a few strands escaping to curl around her face.
She’s concentrating, her lower lip caught between her teeth, completely unaware that I’m watching.
Then she looks up, sees me, and smiles.
Something in my chest cracks open, the same way it did in that cemetery. The part of me that spent twenty years writing songs about losing her, about wanting her, about the girl who got away.
She’s not getting away anymore.
Beside her, Eleanor is holding a basket of extra flower petals, looking at her daughter with an expression I recognize.
Pride, mixed with something deeper. The wound between them is healing.
I can see it in the way they stand close, comfortable, like two people who’ve finally figured out how to be in the same space.
“You ready?” Dean asks from behind me.
“Yeah.” I tear my gaze away from Delilah. “Let’s do this.”
The ceremony is perfect.
Not in a polished, everything-goes-according-to-plan way. Perfect in the way that matters, messy and real and full of love.
Rex walks down the aisle with Asher, bow tie still intact, tail wagging so hard his whole body wiggles. He tries to stop and greet every single guest, pulling Asher off course three separate times. By the time they reach the front, everyone is laughing.
Savannah comes next, Dean’s daughter, looking beautiful and slightly teary in sage green. Then Mads, glowing with the kind of happiness that comes from being exactly where you’re supposed to be.
The book club women are in the front row, and they’re already a mess. Michelle is dabbing her eyes. Hazel is sniffling. Amber is ugly-crying into a tissue. Jessica is pretending to be composed, but her mascara says otherwise. Caroline is taking photos of everyone else’s emotional breakdowns.
“They’re going to flood the beach,” Dean mutters beside me.
“Your bride picked them as friends. Your fault.”
“Jo picked you as best man. Clearly her judgment is impaired.”
I elbow him just as the music changes.
And then Jo appears at the end of the aisle.
She’s wearing a simple dress, nothing fussy or overdone, but she looks like a vision. Her hair is soft around her face, and she’s carrying the blush peonies Delilah designed. Her grin could power a small city.
Dean makes a sound beside me. Not quite a gasp, not quite a laugh. A sound that says this is really happening and I can’t believe she’s mine all at once.
Jo walks down the aisle alone, because that’s who she is. Independent, stubborn, not needing anyone to give her away because she’s choosing this for herself.
When she reaches Dean, she takes his hands, and I watch my grumpy, closed-off brother transform into someone I almost don’t recognize. Soft and open, completely undone by the woman standing in front of him.
“Hi,” Jo whispers.
“Hi yourself.”
The officiant starts talking, but I’m only half listening. My eyes keep drifting to the front row, to Delilah, who’s watching the ceremony with wet cheeks and the biggest smile I’ve ever seen.
She catches me looking. Holds my gaze.
Something passes between us, unspoken but understood. This could be us someday. This will be us, if we’re brave enough.
I turn back to the ceremony just in time for the vows.
“Dean,” Jo says, her voice steady despite the tears in her eyes, “I spent most of my life thinking I wasn’t built for this.
For partnership. For letting someone in.
I convinced myself that being alone was the same as being strong.
” She squeezes his hands. “And then you stomped into my boutique with your clipboard and your code violations and your absolutely infuriating refusal to let me burn down my own business.”
Laughter ripples through the crowd.
“You drove me crazy,” Jo continues. “You still drive me crazy. But somewhere between the fire hazards and the building permits, I fell in love with you. With your grumpy heart and your steady hands and the way you show up, every single time, even when I make it hard.”
Dean’s jaw is tight, but his eyes are bright. He’s holding on by a thread.
“I promise to love you,” Jo says. “To argue with you about occupancy limits and let you win sometimes even when you’re wrong. To build a life with you that’s messy and loud and full of family.” She pauses, voice catching. “And to stay, Dean. No matter what. I promise to stay.”
Dean clears his throat. Takes a breath. I’ve never seen him this close to crying.
“Jo.” His voice is rough. “I spent five years thinking my heart was closed for business. I’d lost my wife. I’d built walls so high I couldn’t see over them. I thought that was fine. I thought safe was enough.”
He pauses, shaking his head.
“Then you showed up with your chaos and your paint-splattered clothes and your complete disregard for fire safety, and you burned through every wall I’d built.
” He lifts her hands, kisses her knuckles.
“You taught me that love isn’t about being safe.
It’s about being brave. It’s about choosing someone, every day, even when it’s terrifying. ”
From the corner of my eye, I see Delilah press a hand to her chest.