Chapter 34 Phoebe
PHOEBE
Ollie zoned out during the service, I could see it.
Hell, everyone could see it. But since all his focus was on me, I didn’t really mind.
But the vows could have him promising to wear a sparkly Speedo and sing “Pink Pony Club” in Bigfoot form at center ice during the first intermission of every Devil Birds home game while Shifty squirted whipped cream from a fire hose on him, and he’d have agreed.
Because it got us married and that’s all he cared about—being married to me.
Not going to lie, being the sole focus of someone like Ollie is incredible.
He's so handsome in his black suit and tie. It’s a classic look, and it’s tailored perfectly.
I’m so grateful Shelby had the perfect dress for me at her shop.
The floor-length A-line ivory chiffon gown is beautiful with its tastefully beaded lace bodice.
The short sleeves are the perfect length so I don’t feel self-conscious about my upper arms. They’re toned from all the mixing I do, but they’re still “fluffy” like the rest of me.
I never thought a wedding dress could be comfortable to wear, but this one doesn’t have boning or a corset.
The built-in bra is a thing of wonder, and I want this in all the T-shirts I wear.
Dress engineering aside, I feel beautiful walking back up the short aisle to exit the church.
Some of Ollie’s teammates must have slipped out early because they’re in two lines facing each other and, at Burke’s command, they brandish their hockey sticks to form an arch for us to pass through.
It’s reminiscent of military weddings where they form the arch with swords.
It’s so sweet, and it’s got Ollie doing some rapid blinking behind his glasses.
Stone and Brick Waller are the last in the line, and Bridget drops her stick like a gate to stop us.
Stone leans forward to give me a sweet peck on the cheek and then a light swat with the blade of his hockey stick on my butt, which makes everyone laugh.
Well, maybe not Ollie. But I think he’s more annoyed at the peck.
Then Brick goes up on her tiptoes to give him a cheek kiss too, and he grins. It’s so sweet.
“You’re the last to arrive and the first to marry, King,” Trevor Carter says once we’re through the line.
“He won’t be the last though,” Mallory says from her spot under Liam’s arm. Her hand rests on his chest, and her beautiful diamond engagement ring sparkles in the sunlight.
I hug Shelby while Ollie hugs Finn.
Then I hear it. That ominous gobble-gobble.
I slowly turn, and there on the brick pathway, about twenty feet away, stands Reggie.
Ollie must have heard him too because he steps in front of me to block me from Reggie’s beady-eyed glare.
Reggie steps to the side to regain his view of me.
The crowd has gone silent—even the visitors to the Village who have nothing to do with our wedding.
Everyone’s stopped to watch. Some have cell phones out and are recording.
Great. This is going to be on all the sites and probably end up being a meme.
Reggie fans his tail and starts bobbing and weaving in what I now know is a mating dance.
Directed at me. When Reggie tries to sidestep and make a run toward me, I’m suddenly surrounded by a burly bunch of hockey players holding hockey sticks as my husband stalks toward the turkey.
Reggie stops mid-strut and gives a low growl.
I didn’t know turkeys could growl, but I don’t know how else to describe it.
Ollie stands his ground, and in a low, grumbly tone that I recognize as his voice when he’s shifted into Bigfoot form, says, “Phoebe is my wife. Touch her and die. Go find your own mate. She’s mine. ”
All the women within earshot, especially me, swoon.
Stone randomly says, “Damn. He got the romance trifecta—my wife, touch her and die, and mate. Well done, sir.”
Somehow, I’m not surprised Stone Waller reads romance.
Reggie lowers his tail, and his chest seems to deflate.
If turkeys have shoulders, his are drooping in defeat.
With a mournful “gobble,” he turns and waddles away.
When he gives one last hopeful glance back, maybe hoping I’ve decided to leave the man of my dreams to become part of a turkey harem, Ollie gives a low rumble that has Reggie two-stepping down the path away from us.
“My hero,” I say, stretching to kiss Ollie.
He does me one better and wraps his arms around me and leans me back, fulfilling one of my romance novel fantasies I thought I’d never get because of my size.
“My wife,” he says before dropping his head to kiss me ardently while our friends and family—and even strangers—cheer.
Swoon.