Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
“I, Kennedy, take thee, Alexander, to be my husband—”
From several rows back, Denver bounced his leg.
He was a man on a mission, and he just needed this ceremony over so he could get to it.
He didn’t know a lot about weddings, but he’d been sure that the florist’s job was done once the flowers were dropped off.
Apparently not. Despite the fact that he’d arrived early—with several gallons of his spiked lemonade for the reception—he hadn’t managed five minutes to talk to Misty.
He hadn’t even managed to get close enough for five words.
When he’d left her at Moonbeams and Sweet Dreams the other night, he’d felt better having made his apologies.
In telling her the truth, he’d finally been able to set aside the noxious emotional brew that had been eating at him for a week.
But as he’d come home to Oscar, who’d stopped wagging almost as soon as he realized Moxie and Misty hadn’t been with him, a whole different level of shitty had rolled in to fill that void.
He missed Misty. He missed hanging out with her and the dogs.
He missed talking over his day with her.
He missed seeing what flowers she’d tucked into her hair every day.
By wallowing in his old wounds, he’d cut her out and left a gaping hole in his life.
That was when he realized he hadn’t fixed shit.
At least not all the way. He wanted her to give him another chance.
He’d been all raring to go to follow through, but Misty had been busy with the wedding—the last two days were her prime go time—so he’d had to wait.
Once he’d made up his mind about something, Denver hated waiting.
The woman in the next seat turned a fulminating glare on him.
Denver stopped bouncing his knee and rubbed damp palms on his pants.
They just had to get through the rest of the ceremony, then he could corner her during pictures.
Except once the I dos were said and the bride was kissed, Misty disappeared and Denver got drafted to help quickly move all the tables at the perimeter and set up for the reception.
Where the hell did she go?
“Denver Hershal, I had no idea you were so talented!” Essie Vaughn, dispatcher and receptionist at the Sheriff’s Office, stepped into his path. “That arbor is just beautiful.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Vaughn.”
“Where did you learn how to do that?”
“My dad taught me. He was a cabinetmaker and master carpenter.” Denver scanned the crowds of people busily placing chairs around the moved tables.
“Such a wonderful skill to have. A dying art.”
He worked up a smile because he wasn’t a total dick. “Thanks, Mrs. Vaughn. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go find Misty.”
Essie beamed at him and tapped her nose. “Of course you do. Go right on ahead, honey.”
Denver cut a swath through the other guests, making a beeline for outside.
Maybe she’d gone up to the inn to help with food?
He got waylaid again four more times by people offering praise or asking questions about the damned arbor.
Xander’s mama tried to talk him into building one out at their place.
It took him another fifteen minutes to shake loose of her without being rude.
It seemed prudent to make the effort since her son could arrest him.
This. This was why he didn’t do this for a living.
His fuse was getting shorter by the minute. He needed to find Misty.
There! Denver spotted her across the barn, adjusting the centerpieces on each table.
Head down, he plowed through the crowd like the offensive lines he used to break in high school football. Misty’s eyes widened as he made it to the table. As she’d known he’d be here, he could only imagine he looked pretty intense.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Is something wrong?” she asked
Everything. “There are some things I need to say.”
Misty frowned. “Here?”
“Yeah.” Denver paused, aware of all the people milling about. “Well, not right on this spot. C’mon.” He took her hand, relieved when she didn’t protest as he pulled her out of the barn.
There were more people milling about, working on transferring food for the buffet, and the wedding party was taking pictures across the yard, but it wasn’t wall-to-wall bodies.
He kept going until he hit a bench on an overlook a little ways from the house, out of earshot and out of the line of the camera.
He paused there, looking out over the mountains he’d made home, waiting for the peace they usually brought to seep into him.
It didn’t. Peace had eluded him from the day he’d walked away from her. If this didn’t work…
It had to work.
He turned to Misty and tightened his grip on the hand he still held.
It was daisies twined in her hair today.
They were always his favorite. Something simple and cheerful that suited the sweet nature he’d come to crave.
He wanted her back in his life as more than somebody to wave to on the street.
He wanted everything he’d been too afraid to grab hold of. “I was wrong.”
She shook her head, clearly not understanding. “Denver, you already apologized. We’re good.”
“No we’re not. The apology was part of it, but after I finished prying my head out of my ass, I realized exactly how badly I screwed up. Because there’s a you-sized hole in my life.”
Misty stared at him.
Hell, he was still screwing this up. Impatient, he ran a hand over his hair. “I miss you. And Oscar may never forgive me if he doesn’t get to see Moxie again. We want you back, if you can see your way to forgiving me for being a dumbass.”
There. He’d said it. He’d put the whole thing out there. Now, heart in his throat, Denver held his breath, knowing it was out of his hands.
We want you back.
He might have been slow, but he’d finally made a move.
And it was exactly what Misty had wanted him to say the other night.
But though her heart pounded with hope, with excitement, there was no little bit of fear mixed in.
She’d let down her walls with this man. She’d let him into her life further than any man in years, and at the first sign of trouble, he’d run.
What guarantee did she have that he wouldn’t do it again?
That the memories she inadvertently evoked for him wouldn’t get thrown back in her face somewhere down the line?
I was wrong.
Did he really mean it? He looked so penitent staring down at her with those clear gray eyes.
A rare streak of vulnerability colored his expression, and Misty realized she had the capacity to hurt him, too.
This big, intense, broody man was actually holding his breath, waiting for her to answer.
Maybe that told her everything she needed to know.
“Having an emotional trauma and choosing to go off and deal with it on your own instead of taking it directly out on me does not make you a dumbass.” Misty had worked her way around to that over the past couple of days.
She wished he’d told her at the time, but she realized that, in his own way, he’d been trying to protect her from his reaction.
“You could have been incredibly ugly to me over the whole thing. I know ugly. I’ve been used to being blamed for things that aren’t my fault, that I had no actual control over.
You didn’t do that. My story brought up some big emotional stuff for you—stuff you usually keep locked away—and rather than unleash it on me unfairly, you went off to brood on your own.
And yeah, that hurt me, so let’s not do that ever again.
But I can understand it. I even see a strength of character in how you handled yourself. ”
Denver ducked his head. Was he blushing? Sure enough, color was creeping up his neck. “Does that mean you’ll give me another chance?”
He’d come this far on his own. She could meet him the rest of the way. Sliding her arms around his neck, Misty rose to her toes and brushed her lips against his. “We can’t break the dogs’ hearts, now can we?”
Denver’s arms closed around her and Misty found herself lifted off the ground as he spun her in a fast circle, before his mouth came down on hers for a kiss that meant serious business.
It was the smattering of applause that brought Misty back to herself.
Pulling back, she felt her own cheeks heat as she realized half the wedding guests had spilled out onto the lawn and were watching, as were the wedding party.
“Well. I guess they came for the wedding and got an extra show,” she muttered.
“Don’t mind us,” Denver hollered. “I’m just kissing my girl.”
The guests grinned. Across the yard, Misty spotted Cayla and Kennedy sharing a high five.
Most of those who saw it probably thought they were congratulating themselves on the nigh flawless execution of a quick wedding.
But as they both shot matching grins in her direction, she knew what it was really about. She was far too grateful to be annoyed.
Pivoting back into his arms, she arched both brows. “Your girl, huh?”
A flicker of doubt crossed his face. “Minus a week of me being pig-headed, I kinda thought we were headed in that direction.”
“We were,” she conceded. “But a girl likes to be asked.”
Denver’s smile spread like sun-warmed honey as he pulled her closer. “Misty Pennebaker, will you be my girlfriend?”
“I’d love to,” she said, and lifted her lips to his.