Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Jamie
The shop was quiet in the early morning, the post-Valentine's chaos cleared away, the coolers humming their steady rhythm.
Holden stood by the back table in a gray henley, sleeves pushed up, checking the boxes of wedding flowers one final time.
The bridal bouquet sat in its own container, white peonies and garden roses in the palest blush, trailing eucalyptus that he'd wired to cascade just so.
The bridesmaids' arrangements in their labeled boxes.
The centerpieces I'd watched him build yesterday, each one identical but somehow still handmade, still carrying the particular care of his attention.
The dogs spotted me first. Marceline abandoned her post by the door and trotted over, whole body wiggling. Bubblegum followed at her usual measured pace.
“Hey.” Holden looked up, and his face did that thing, the softening, the warmth I was still getting used to being allowed to see. “You're up.”
“Smelled coffee.”
“Counter.” He crossed the room, and before I could reach for a mug, his hands were on my face, tilting it up, and he was kissing me. Slow and thorough, like we had all the time in the world.
When he pulled back, I was breathless.
“Good morning to you too,” I managed.
“I slept better last night than I have in months.” His thumbs traced my cheekbones. “Wanted you to know.”
“Yeah?” I looked around. “How long have you been up?”
“Long enough to put all the final touches on the delicate stuff. I think we're good to go.” He kissed me again, quick this time, then stepped back. “Flowers need to be at the lodge by eleven. We've got time to walk the girls and grab breakfast first, if you want.”
“Copper Kettle?”
“Unless you'd rather make something here.”
“Copper Kettle it is.” I reached for the coffee he'd gotten for me, cream and sugar already added, because he loved me.
We walked the dogs through the quiet Sunday streets, Marceline straining at her leash to investigate every interesting smell, Bubblegum trotting at my side with her usual dignity.
The February air was cold but not bitter, the sky that particular shade of winter blue that made the mountains look close enough to touch.
Holden's hand found mine somewhere around the second block.
We didn't talk much. Didn't need to. Just walked together through the town that was starting to feel like mine, the dogs leading the way, our breath fogging in the cold.
The Copper Kettle was half-full when we pushed through the door: Sunday morning regulars, a few families, someone reading the paper in the corner booth. Mags looked up from the register, saw us, and grinned.
“Good morning, boys,” she said. “Breakfast special this morning is banana pancakes.”
We took the corner booth. The dogs settled under the table, Marceline's chin on my foot, Bubblegum pressed against Holden's ankle. Mags brought coffee and menus.
“You two look relaxed,” she said. “Got some sleep after your busy day?”
“Something like that,” Holden said, and gave me a soft smile.
“Mm-hmm.” She glanced between the two of us, something knowing in her expression, and tucked her tray under her arm. “Take your time. Sunday's slow.”
We ordered—eggs and bacon for me, banana pancakes for Holden.” The food was good, the coffee was better, and every time I looked up, Holden was watching me with an expression that made my chest tight.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.” He shook his head. “Just… this. It's good.”
“Yeah.” I reached across the table, covered his hand with mine. “It is.”
After breakfast, I dropped the dogs at my house while Holden went back to pack the delivery van. Marceline protested the abandonment with a series of pointed looks, but Bubblegum was already claiming her spot on the couch by the time I closed the door.
The drive up the mountain took twenty minutes, the road winding through stands of pine dusted with last night's snow. I'd made this trip once before, picking up the dogs from Landon here, before we agreed on neutral territory for the dog switches.
Today felt different. Holden's hand rested on my thigh, warm and steady, and the van smelled like roses and eucalyptus.
I wasn't going to see Landon. He was in Cabo, on a beach somewhere, and I was here with the man I loved, delivering wedding flowers to a lodge that just happened to belong to my ex's family.
Still. When the lodge came into view, that massive timber structure with its steeply pitched roof and walls of windows reflecting the snow-capped peaks, it suddenly felt hard to breathe.
“You okay?” Holden's hand squeezed my thigh.
“Yeah.” I forced myself to take a breath. “It's just weird, being here. Landon's not around, but this is still his family's place. I keep expecting to turn a corner and run into his mother.”
Holden was quiet for a moment. “You don't have to go inside. I can handle the delivery myself.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I want to help. I want to be here with you.” I turned to look at him, at the way the morning light caught his profile. “Besides, I'm not letting Landon Hawkins ruin one more thing for me. Not even by association.”
Holden's mouth curved. “That's my sunshine.”
“Shut up.”
He parked the van near the service entrance, and we climbed out into the crisp mountain air.
The lodge rose above us, all dark timber and river rock, windows reflecting clouds and sky.
Through the glass, I could see the great room, the massive stone fireplace at its center, flames already burning, leather furniture arranged in clusters around it.
To the right, the restaurant where the reception would be held.
To the left, the hallway that led to the hotel rooms.
The scale of it still got to me. Not because it was impressive, though it was. Because Landon had grown up here, had taken for granted the kind of wealth that could build something like this, and I'd spent two years feeling small beside it.
Holden came around the van and stood next to me, looking up at the building. In his work boots and flannel, sawdust still clinging to his cuffs, he looked exactly like himself. Unbothered by the grandeur. Unimpressed by the name on the building.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yeah.” I grabbed the first box from the back. “Let's make this wedding beautiful.”
We spotted Jolie, the event coordinator, who led us through the staff corridors to the great room, where the ceremony would take place.
The space was being transformed as we watched. Workers arranged chairs in rows facing the fireplace, the flames casting warm light against the stone. White ribbon draped from ceiling beams. An arch stood waiting, bare wood that would soon be covered in Holden's greenery and roses.
“The bridal bouquet and bridesmaids' flowers go in the small room off the hallway,” Jolie said, already moving. “There's a cooler in there. Centerpieces go to the restaurant for the reception, the caterers are setting up tables now. Boutonnieres stay with me.”
We unloaded in three trips. The restaurant was chaos—tables being arranged, chairs unstacked, someone arguing about the proper placement of the guest book.
Through the archway to the great room, I caught glimpses of more preparation: people rushing from room to room, the chairs realigned, the arch waiting for flowers.
“The arch arrangements are in the last box,” Holden told Jolie. “Greenery and white roses, like she wanted. They'll need to go up about an hour before the ceremony.”
“I'll make sure of it.” She squeezed his arm. “Your grandmother would be proud, you know. Margaret always said you had the gift.”
Holden's jaw went tight. His shoulders pulled back, and for a moment I saw the grief flash across his face—there and gone, tucked away before anyone else could notice. He nodded, once, the gesture carrying more weight than words would have.
“Tell Emma congratulations from me,” he said.
We walked back through the great room on our way out.
The morning light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, catching dust motes, making the white ribbons glow.
Someone had set out programs on a table near the entrance—Emma not anxiety, not sadness.
Something that felt almost like hope. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
I thought about how I'd imagined my own wedding, once. Back when I was with Landon, back when I thought we'd last. I'd pictured something small, intimate. Not in a place like this, nothing this grand. Just somewhere that felt like us.
I'd stopped imagining it when we fell apart. Had convinced myself I didn't want it, didn't need it, was better off alone.
But standing here, in this space that was about to witness someone else's beginning, with Holden's hand steady on my back and his warmth beside me, I let myself imagine it again. Just for a second. Just enough to notice that the picture had changed. The person had changed.
“Nothing specific,” I said, pushing the thought aside before it could take root. Too soon for that. Too new. “Just—this is nice. The flowers look good.”
“They look adequate.”
I snorted. “They look beautiful and you know it.”
His mouth curved. “Maybe.”
We stood there for another moment, the great room quiet around us, the chaos of setup muffled behind closed doors. The fireplace crackled and popped, throwing warmth into the vast space. Holden's thumb traced small circles on my back through my jacket.
“We should go,” he said. “Let them finish setting up.”