23. The Wedding
THE WEDDING
Dylan
M r Langford’s assistant meets me near the entrance to the orchard with a clipboard and a pinched smile. “You’re seated with the Langfords,” she says, handing me a name card like it’s a parking violation.
“Lucky me,” I mutter.
Technically, I wasn’t supposed to be a guest. But after the storm rescue and the emergency rebuild of the arch, Mr Langford himself muttered something about “recognizing initiative” and insisted I attend the ceremony.
I don’t think it was out of gratitude. I think it was damage control. Either way, I’m here — and she’s here.
Addison Bennett, in all her glory.
She’s not just composed — she’s radiant.
Her navy jumpsuit from yesterday is gone, replaced with a soft plum wrap dress that somehow looks both commanding and effortless.
Clipboard in one hand, headset tucked behind one ear, and that familiar glint in her eyes — the ‘I built this’ look.
I’ve seen it on her before, but never like this.
Never with that undercurrent of hard-won confidence.
She passes by, rattling off instructions to the caterers without missing a step. Her fingers brush mine as she walks past. Just a whisper of contact, but it sends a full jolt through me.
“You clean up nice,” I say.
She smirks without turning. “Don’t distract the planner, Smyth.”
No promises.
The ceremony begins as the golden hour settles in. The arch we rebuilt glows in the late-afternoon sun, hummingbird keystone and all. The chairs are full, the guests quiet, and Meredith walks down the aisle like she was born for it. Addison watches from the sidelines, her eyes shining.
There’s this moment — just as the bride reaches the front — where Addy presses her clipboard to her chest like it’s holding her heart in place. And I realize she’s not just proud. She’s relieved. Like maybe she’s finally letting herself believe she deserves this win.
Gina, the ice queen herself, leans toward her husband and whispers something. He nods, then glances at Addison. And for the first time all weekend, I see respect in his eyes.
The ceremony is simple and elegant. Vows exchanged beneath string lights. A few misty eyes. A solid round of applause. And then the party begins.
* * *
T he reception is a different kind of storm — music, champagne flutes, laughter rising like confetti. I snag a ginger ale and hover near the dessert table, where mini apple tarts and lavender shortbread are disappearing faster than the DJ can cue the next track.
“Did you help build that arch?” a woman asks beside me. Gray curls, sequined dress, sharp eyes.
“I did,” I say.
She smiles. “I’ve been to a lot of weddings. Never seen one come back from disaster like this.”
“All credit to the planner,” I say, tipping my glass toward Addison across the lawn.
She’s talking with Meredith and Evan now, both of whom are glowing in that way newlyweds do when the hard part’s over and the party’s just beginning. Meredith hugs her. Evan claps her on the back like she’s a teammate who just scored the game-winner.
The older woman grins. “Well, she’s got herself a keeper in you.”
I nearly choke on my ginger ale. “Oh, we’re not —”
She raises a brow.
“— I mean, we haven’t exactly —”
She pats my arm as she turns to walk away. “You will.”
Addy appears beside me before I can think of a response.
“Rescuing another guest from sugar overload?” she asks, eyeing the two shortbread cookies in my hand.
“Trying to. She called me a keeper.”
Addy hums. “She might be onto something. You’ll make some lucky lady very happy.”
My heart flips in my chest. She’s teasing. Maybe.
The music shifts. Something classic and warm — Frank Sinatra, maybe. The kind of song that wants you to dance under fairy lights.
I hold out my hand. “You promised me a dance.”
Before she answers, Cassandra appears out of nowhere, cocktail in one hand, wearing what I can only describe as a silk slip disguised as a dress. Her heels click across the dance floor with the subtlety of a fire alarm.
“Dylan,” she purrs, placing a manicured hand on my shoulder. “There you are. I was wondering if you’d be brave enough to dance with someone a little more… in your league.”
Addison stands her ground, and I tighten my grip. Not tonight.
Cassandra flashes a smile like she’s already won. “Don’t be shy. The bride won’t mind. And you deserve to celebrate. I hear you’re the reason this wedding didn’t collapse — literally.”
Addison doesn’t flinch. She steps between us with the kind of grace that could cut glass.
“This dance is taken, Cassandra. And this event isn’t about you.”
Cassandra scoffs. “Oh, please. I’m just trying to enjoy myself.”
“No,” Addy says smoothly, “you’re trying to hijack the spotlight, again. But here’s the thing: you can’t outshine someone who isn’t competing with you.”
Cassandra’s lips part like she’s going to fire back, but she catches the eyes watching from nearby: Meredith, Gina, even Meredith’s dad from a distance — and instead she just huffs, flips her hair, and stalks off.
Addison exhales and looks at me.
“You handled that like a boss,” I murmur.
“I’m done letting people bulldoze things I care about,” she says, eyes holding mine.
“Good,” I say. “Because I care about this, too.”
Her fingers slide into mine, sure and certain. We walk together to the edge of the crowd, where the arch still stands, glowing in soft amber. I pull her close, one hand at her waist, the other holding hers, and she leans in like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“You good?” I ask softly.
She leans into my chest again, this time not as a retreat, but as a choice.
“I think I might be great,” she whispers.
We sway under the lights, the orchard soft around us, the music carrying just enough to drown out the world. I don’t need a speech. I don’t need closure. I just need this — her, here, now.
We dance until the sky turns indigo. Guests slowly drift toward the exit.
Meredith tosses her bouquet to cheers and squeals.
Someone starts a sparkler line. And through it all, Addison glows, not just from the string lights or the successful event, but from the quiet confidence of knowing she didn’t just survive this weekend. She owned it.
I walk her to the edge of the orchard when things begin to wind down. She’s barefoot now, heels dangling from one hand, clipboard under her arm like always.
“Not bad,” I say.
She nudges me. “High praise from Bluewater’s most overqualified handyman.”
“I’m serious. You didn’t just pull this off. You nailed it.”
She shrugs one shoulder, but there’s no hiding the pride in her smile. “We nailed it. You were there when it counted.”
I want to say something more. Something lasting. But maybe this isn’t the moment.
Or maybe it is.
“So… dinner next week?” I ask. “No fairy lights. No arch. Just you, me, and food that doesn’t come from a catering van.”
She pretends to think. “Hmm. I don’t know. I might be busy rebuilding my reputation and fielding new bookings.”
“I’ll bring coffee,” I offer.
She turns to me, eyes soft. “Okay. One condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You let me pick the dessert.”
“Deal.”
We don’t kiss... not here, not now. But as she walks back into the glow of her success, I know it’s coming.
And this time, she’s not running.