Chapter 26
Savvy – Three Months Later
“Stop fidgeting,” Mom scolded, adjusting my veil for the hundredth time. “You’ll wrinkle the silk.”
I caught her hand, squeezing gently. “The silk survived thirty-two years in that preservation box. I think it can handle a few wrinkles.”
Her wedding dress fit me perfectly, though we’d modernized it. The vintage lace still caught the June sunlight streaming through The Weathered Barn’s restored windows, but now it hugged my curves in a way that would have scandalized 1991.
“Your father’s pacing outside,” Ivy announced, sweeping in with her makeup kit. For once, she wasn’t the one wearing the outrageous bridesmaid dress—instead, she looked elegant in a deep blue silk that fit and didn’t have a bustle. “I think he’s having a crisis about his manicure.”
I laughed, remembering the epic battle to get forty years of engine grease from under his fingernails. After three hours at Gloria’s favorite spa, Dad had emerged looking distinctly traumatized but with hands that could touch white silk without leaving marks.
“How’s the crowd?” I asked, trying to peek through the window without disturbing Mom’s careful arrangement of my train.
“Full house,” Maddy reported, joining us with a clipboard I was pretty sure was for show.
It struck me then—how easily we all moved around each other, how effortlessly we fit.
After months of wedding planning, last-minute disasters, and more than a few wine-fueled strategy sessions, we’d become something close to family. Even Mason, who’d initially treated all of this like one of his legal negotiations, had somehow ended up in the middle of everything—coordinating contracts, keeping the town gossip from derailing vendor agreements, and suffering through more group chats than any man should have to endure.
“Mrs. Patterson’s crying, and we haven’t even started. Also, she’s live tweeting everything.”
“Of course she is.” I smoothed my hands over the vintage silk, remembering all the endings I’d orchestrated in designer suits with professional distance. Today was different—like stepping into my story instead of managing everyone else’s.
“Mr. Dixon’s in the front row,” Ivy added, making minute adjustments to my mascara. “Looking surprisingly dapper for someone who usually dresses like he raided a thrift store in 1962.”
“Did you know this place used to be River Bend’s social center? Before it became, you know...”
“A glorified storage unit for his unsold antiques?” I finished, remembering all the times we’d passed by The Weathered Barn, wondering what treasures lay buried under decades of dust.
“Speaking of which,” Ivy’s eyes sparkled with familiar mischief, “have you seen what he did with the entire space?”
I shook my head. We’d cleaned out enough room for the ceremony, but the back room had remained Mr. Dixon’s domain.
“He cleared it all out,” Maddy said excitedly. “Every single piece. He said it was his wedding gift to you—a blank canvas for whatever follows.”
A knock at the door interrupted whatever she was about to say next. Dad poked his head in, and my breath caught. Paul Honeysucker, who I’d never seen in anything fancier than clean coveralls, stood in a perfectly tailored tux.
"Ready to do this, kiddo?" His voice was gruff with emotion, and I noticed the faint hesitation in his movements as he offered his elbow.
Dad squeezed my arm as we paused at the entrance. The Weathered Barn had been transformed—mason jars filled with fairy lights hung from rustic wooden beams, and wildflowers lined the aisle in copper pots that Dad had restored, each one polished to a mirror shine. White hydrangeas and blue delphiniums created a natural cascade, punctuated by sprays of Queen Anne’s lace that reminded me of stars.
Henry stood waiting beneath an arch woven with ivy and white roses, and the moment our eyes met, everything else faded away. Even Mrs. Patterson’s theatrical sobbing from the front row couldn’t break the spell.
When Dad placed my hand in Henry’s, he said, “Take care of my girl.” His voice was rough with emotion, and I saw Henry blink back tears .
“Dearly beloved,” Gloria began—we’d insisted she get ordained just for this—“we’re gathered here today because these two got their act together.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd as she continued, “And because sometimes the best love stories take the scenic route.”
When it came time for our vows, Henry said, “Savvy Honeysucker, I spent five years trying to convince myself I could live without you. I was wrong. You are my north star, my harbor in every storm, my reason for fighting back when it would be easier to give in. I vow to spend every day making sure you never doubt that you’re the best decision I’ve ever made.” His voice carried clear and strong through the barn.
My hands rested in his as I began my own vows. “Henry Kingston, you crashed back into my life like a perfect storm, turning everything upside down in the best possible way. I promise to fight for us, to never take the simple path if it means walking away from you. I promise to love you through every imperfect, beautiful moment that lies ahead.”
A warm June breeze carried the scent of roses through the barn’s open doors as Gloria pronounced us husband and wife. When Henry kissed me, Maddy’s “subtle” special effects—a cascade of silver streamers—went off early, showering everyone with sparkles. The timing was wrong but somehow perfect, like us.
After the streamers settled around us like silver rain, I squeezed Henry’s hand. “Wait,” I whispered. “I have something for you.”
From a hidden pocket Ivy had expertly sewn into my dress, I pulled out a yellowed cocktail napkin, preserved despite the years. Henry’s eyes widened in recognition as I unfolded a sketch of a little house by the river, complete with garden space and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
“You kept it.” His fingers traced the faded lines. “All this time?”
“Maybe some part of me never stopped believing in that dream,” I said softly. “Even when I was doing everything possible to prove I didn’t need it.”
Henry pressed his forehead to mine, the napkin caught between our clasped hands. “We can still build it, you know. All of it.”
His laugh was thick with emotion as he carefully folded the memory into his jacket pocket, right over his heart.
Later, as we cut into the cake—a masterpiece of copper-painted tiers and handcrafted sugar flowers that matched my bouquet—Henry got frosting on my nose despite my best efforts to avoid it.
“The bouquet toss!” Ivy called out, gathering the single ladies. My wedding bouquet, a cascade of white roses and blue delphiniums tied with copper ribbon, sailed through the air in a perfect arc ... straight into Maddy’s surprised hands.
“The garter’s next!” someone shouted, and I caught Henry’s wicked grin as he knelt before me. The delicate lace garter—borrowed from Mom and something blue—snapped across the room directly at Mason, who caught it reflexively.
“Don’t even think about it,” Maddy warned as Mason approached with the garter, though her cheeks flushed pink.
“Please,” Mason drawled, though his ears had reddened. “I’d rather walk through Richard Kingston’s hostile takeover again than be stuck in a room with your drone collection.”
“Funny,” Maddy shot back, clutching my bouquet like a shield, “I was thinking I’d rather paint a thousand pigeons than attempt to dance with a lawyer who thinks a sense of humor is a liability.”
But it was during the reception that the real magic happened. Mr. Dixon appeared at our table, looking uncomfortable in his Sunday best.
I watched Ivy try to convince Mrs. Patterson that she couldn’t livestream the entire reception when Mr. Dixon approached our table. He pulled Henry aside, and I saw them exchange something—an envelope, maybe?—followed by matching grins that made me instantly suspicious.
After their hushed conversation, they both turned to me.
“Come with us,” Henry said, extending his hand. “Mr. Dixon has something to show us.”
Mr. Dixon led us through to a back room I barely recognized. The space had been completely cleared out, its soaring ceilings and original hardwood floors glowing in the evening light. “Took me three weeks to clear it all out,” he said proudly, running a hand along one of the exposed beams. “But a deal’s a deal, and I wanted it perfect for today.”
Mr. Dixon’s eyes grew wistful with memory. “Your grandmother used to plan all the town’s celebrations here,” he told me. “Back when River Bend knew how to throw a proper party. Been waiting for the right moment to pass it on to someone who’d bring that magic back.”
“Pass it on?” I turned to Henry, who was holding out the envelope I had seen earlier.
“Happy wedding day, love,” he said. “Mr. Dixon and I have been working on this for months.”
My hands shook as I opened it. Inside was a deed—to The Weathered Barn . My name was right there on the dotted line.
“You didn’t,” I breathed.
“I did.” Henry’s gaze warmed. “Every love story needs the right setting. And I thought maybe it was time for River Bend to have a place where happy endings are just the beginning.”
“Oh my god!” Maddy’s voice carried from the doorway where she and Ivy had been eavesdropping. “It’s perfect! We could do everything here—proposals, weddings, celebrations?—”
“A one-stop shop for happily ever afters,” Ivy finished, moving through the space like she could see it all.
“Ever After, Inc.,” I said, the name feeling right on my tongue. “Everything you need to make your perfect day perfect.”
“Or perfectly imperfect,” Henry added with a grin, no doubt remembering his own drone disaster of a proposal.
Mr. Dixon cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll leave you young folks to it. Remember—this place has seen a lot of love stories. Treat her right.”
As he walked away, Maddy was in full planning mode. “We’ll need to update the wiring, maybe add some modern lighting, but keep the vintage charm.”
“Slow down,” I laughed. “I just got married. Maybe we can wait until tomorrow to start the next adventure?”
But looking around the space—at my best friends deep into plotting and planning, at Henry’s look of quiet pride, and at the way the evening light bathed everything in shades of possibility—I knew this was exactly right. The Breakup Broker was officially retired, and something new was beginning.
A commotion from the main room drew our attention. “ Speaking of adventures,” Ivy said with a grin, “I think Maddy’s grand finale is about to start.”
We hurried back in time to hear the first notes of “At Last” fill the air. But instead of the simple first dance we’d planned, the ceiling erupted in a shower of silver stars—actual metallic stars, drifting down on nearly invisible threads while tiny lights twinkled in the rafters.
“No drones,” Maddy said when we stared at her. “You said no drones. But you didn’t ban stars.”
“Your stars are crooked,” Mason called out as Maddy finished adjusting the final constellation. “The whole left side will come down on someone’s head.”
“My stars,” Maddy said, spinning to face him, “are perfectly engineered. Unlike your personality.”
“Really? Because that one’s slipping.” He pointed up with his champagne glass. “Though I suppose a falling star is on brand for you. Very symbolic of your events.”
“Henry,” Maddy said sweetly, though her eyes shot daggers at Mason, “I hope you’re not too attached to your best man because I’m about two seconds away from demonstrating how lethal a Jimmy Choo can be when properly motivated.”
“Careful, Chen,” Mason drawled, stepping closer to adjust the allegedly crooked star himself, “threatening bodily harm at a wedding you planned isn’t great for business. Though I suppose premeditated murder would give you plenty of time to work on your organizational skills in prison.”
“And I’d rather paint a thousand pigeons, dye my hair green, and marry a tax attorney than admit you might occasionally be right about anything.”
They were standing very close now, the star forgotten between them .
“Tax attorney?” Mason’s voice dropped lower. “That’s oddly specific. Been thinking about marriage a lot, Chen?”
“Only about how to make it spectacular for other people,” she shot back, but her cheeks flushed pink. “Some of us create magic. Others ... exist to point out liability issues.”
“Speaking of liability...” His hand brushed hers as he reached for the star. “Dance with me. Before you bring this whole place down around our ears.”
“I’d rather—” she started.
“Paint a thousand pigeons?” he finished. “Yeah, I heard you the first time. Dance anyway.”
To everyone’s surprise, including possibly her own, Maddy did.
Henry pulled me closer as we watched them move across the floor, still bickering but with a rhythm that looked surprisingly like chemistry.
“Ten bucks says she tries to kill him before they figure it out,” I murmured against his shoulder.
“Twenty says he asks her out before she gets the chance.”
I looked around at my world—Mom and Dad dancing like teenagers, Victoria directing Mrs. Patterson’s livestream with surprising patience, and Ivy sketching something that looked suspiciously like a bridesmaid dress. At Maddy and Mason, who’d stopped dancing to argue about whether the string quartet was playing in the right key, their faces inches apart and their eyes saying something entirely different from their words.
“Perfect,” I said, and meant it. It wasn’t the artificial perfect I used to chase, but the real kind—the perfectly imperfect joy of finding exactly where you belong.
Henry’s arms tightened around me. “Ready for our next chapter?”
I thought about The Weathered Barn, waiting to be transformed, about all the love stories yet to unfold within its walls. How ending my career as the Breakup Broker had led to the most beautiful beginning.
“With you?” I lifted my face to his. “Always.”
Above us, the stars kept falling, each glimmering as they tumbled, like tiny sparks. Behind us, Maddy’s voice rose over the music—“Touch that centerpiece and die, Mason!”—followed by what sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
Because sometimes the best endings aren’t endings at all—they’re the first page of a much better story. And occasionally the most beautiful love stories start with someone driving you absolutely crazy .
Thank you for reading The Breakup Broker . Did you enjoy River Bend and the story of Savvy and Henry?
If you love small-town romance, be sure to check out One Hundred Moments , the free prequel to my bestselling Aspen Cove series, and learn more about Bea Bennett and her love of pink stationery.
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