Chapter 33 | Wedding Plans
I knew they were coming before I saw them—because the vineyard does not forget the sound of joy. It carries.
James’s voice reached us first, bright and unmistakable, followed by another—older, deeper, booming with laughter.
“Zebedee,” Abba muttered from the doorway, already smiling despite himself. “He announces himself like a feast.”
James appeared between the rows with John at his side, both of them grinning as if the world had not recently been turned upside down.
Behind them came Zebedee, broad-shouldered and sun-worn, his presence filling the space like a door thrown open.
Salome followed, her pace brisk, her eyes already taking stock of everything from the vines to the house to me.
“So,” Salome said, stopping short and planting her hands on her hips, “this is the vineyard that’s stolen my son.”
James rolled his eyes. “Ima.”
I wiped my hands on my apron and stepped forward. “If it helps, he arrived loud and uninvited.”
Zebedee barked a laugh. “Ah. Then he’s ours.”
John stood quietly near the trellis. He met my eyes and smiled—steady, knowing, watching something he already understood the shape of.
Abba stepped forward then, straightening his shoulders. “You’re welcome here,” he said, voice firm. “All of you.”
Zebedee inclined his head, respect answering respect. “We’re glad to be here.”
Salome’s eyes softened as she looked between James and me. “We heard rumors,” she said carefully. “We thought it best to come see for ourselves before planning anything foolish.”
James groaned. “She means tents.”
“Tables,” Salome corrected. “Food. People.”
“No,” I said at once.
The word came out sharper than I intended.
Salome blinked.
I met her gaze. “No tents. No crowd. No spectacle.”
James hid a smile.
Salome tilted her head. “You don’t want a celebration?”
“I want a marriage,” I said. “Not a procession.”
Zebedee chuckled. “Looks like you’ve met your match son.”
James lifted his hands. “She knows what she wants.”
Salome considered me for a long moment, then sighed—dramatically. “Very well. Small.”
“Small,” I agreed.
She pointed a finger. “But joyful.”
“That I can manage.”
She smiled then, warm and genuine. “Good. Because joy follows my sons whether they want it or not.”
John cleared his throat. “She’s not wrong.”
Lavi, who had been hovering near the edge of the group, crept closer to James and tugged at his sleeve. “Are they staying?”
James crouched immediately. “If Talia says yes.”
Lavi looked up at me.
I nodded.
His grin split his face.
Zebedee’s brows lifted slightly.
“Ah,” he said, a slow smile spreading beneath his beard. “I remember you—the little lion.”
“James tells us you’re a brave one,” Salome added, crouching slightly to meet his eye. “Stronger than he looks.”
Lavi’s shoulders straightened, as though the words themselves had weight.
We moved to the shade of the fig tree, conversation flowing easily now. Salome asked about the vines, about the soil, about how I kept accounts without losing track. Zebedee spoke of boats and storms and sons who had always been impossible to keep still.
Abba listened more than he spoke, but when Salome praised the vineyard, his chin lifted slightly, whether pride in the vineyard itself, or me for keeping it, I couldn’t tell.
James leaned close at one point and murmured, “Well. That went better than expected.”
“You expected disaster?”
“I always expect disaster,” he said cheerfully. “It keeps me nimble.”
I shook my head. “You are impossible.”
“And yet,” he said, “here you are… about to marry me.”
He smiled, and my pulse answered before I could stop it.
I looked at him, at the steadiness in him, the way he stood like a man who knew Who he served. And I felt so blessed to be the one standing here with him.
I had never expected this. Never would have chosen it before.
But now—marrying him felt like the best thing I could imagine.
I stood there, listening to them speak of tables and food and what would come next—and realized none of it felt impossible anymore.
Not the wedding, not the waiting, not even the leaving.
“Ima!”
Lavi’s voice broke through as he came running over to me, bouncing with excitement. “James said he would take me fishing at the lake—is that all right?”
I looked at him—at the boy who had once hovered at the edges, unsure of his place.
“Yes, of course,” I said.
He grinned and darted back before I could say more.
I lifted my gaze to the sky.
“Toda, Adonai and toda, Yeshua. Thank You, Lord, and thank You, Jesus,” I whispered. “For this… and for what comes next.”