Chapter 7 #2
When she won’t look me in the eye, my confidence takes a tiny stumble.
Like maybe I misread the years’ worth of signals I took to mean Brooke was just afraid and wounded but not not in love with me.
But when I use my thumb to tilt her chin, her eyes and body follow willingly, drawing an inch closer.
“Yes,” she whispers, more tears flowing.
Yes. Sweetest homerun I’ve ever hit.
“Yeah, Babe. We do.” I nod, a foolish, unrelenting hope bubbling in my chest. “And we’re gonna go in there and say vows to one another that we truly mean. Okay? They aren’t about anyone else. Just you and me. Babe and Ruth. Brooke and Owen.”
She nods, worrying her lip between her teeth.
“And what about that pizza?”
I can’t hide my sigh of relief. “What my wifey wants, my wifey gets.”
“Your wifey never wants to be called that again.”
“Noted.” I solemnly and silently swear to call her every iteration of wife for every day I’m able. I tilt my head towards the crowd still watching us. “Should we go in? Get hitched. Hit a grand slam?”
She swats me in the chest. “Yeah, Ruth. Pizza promises and a couch to sleep on. How’s a girl to refuse?”
It turns out the producers of Suite Hearts were delighted to hear, through the local grapevine, that one of their couples was speeding up their nuptials in order to participate on the show.
Someone in Honey Hill—and I highly suspect the Cottens, who have a front row seat to today’s festivities—spun the story that Brooke and I have been together for years and were likely planning our wedding celebration for a later date but moved it to an elopement when Brooke was selected for the competition.
Something we don’t argue with when we greet the crowd of family and Suite Hearts’ crew patiently waiting for us.
Brooke and I manage to get through the quick line of questioning awaiting us.
She accepts the bear hug both my parents wrap her in, welcoming her officially to the family she’s always been a part of.
I ask my dad to marry us, something Breezy graciously agrees to since we hadn’t originally expected to have my parents here today.
Then, as Brooke’s distracted with my mom and Gram’s attention, I take the time to make sure my teammates know they aren’t welcome through the doors of the building if those homemade signs come anywhere near the ceremony.
We finally introduce ourselves to Sumer Morrison, the host of the show, who’s far more down to earth than I anticipated, and I think we’re finally in the clear to do this thing until Brooke’s mom hollers from the parking lot.
“Honey! Wait on us!” She’s wearing a white sundress, hair pinned up and curled, and dragging Jerry along at her side. “Whew! We barely made it.”
“Mom… I…” Brooke’s stunned, clinging to my hand. “I didn’t think you’d—”
“Well, I know I didn’t get a direct invitation, sweetheart, which we will most definitely talk about later, but when Owen’s mama called to ask about a joint wedding gift for y’all, I just had to be here.”
Mom gives me an apologetic glance. I’m not sorry Brooke’s mom is here. I know they’re close despite the complicated dynamics of their family, but I don’t want Brooke to feel more confused or unsure than she already does.
“Afraid we beat ya to it, though. Didn’t we, sugar?
” Jerry wraps his hand around Ms. McBride’s waist and pulls her close.
“We sealed the deal yesterday. Got hitched at this very courthouse.” He points at a man having a smoke break around the corner of the building.
“That guy did the whole ceremony for eighty bucks. Gave Beth a twenty dollar discount for being a repeat customer.”
The man chuckles… and that’ll do it. Brooke’s countenance changes completely. She lets my hand go, then adjusts the garment bag on her shoulder. “Congratulations, y’all. I’m so happy for you and glad you could make it.”
The camera man’s getting every moment of this, and I worry I’m losing her already. So I pivot, grabbing Brooke’s hand and pulling her up the stairs, away from the group. “Let’s not get married in there.”
“What?” She looks genuinely distraught. A good sign.
“Let’s get married…” I glance around, trying to spot any better option, finally narrowing in on a small park at the end of the street where a couple of kids are playing catch. “There.”
“There?” Brooke follows my eyeline and a small but satisfied smile lifts her perfect lips. “Yeah. That would be good.”
“And,” I add, feeling nervous all of a sudden, “I have something for you. I should have given it to you last week, but I, uh… I didn’t know if you’d…
” I search for the tiny piece of metal in my pocket and decide to go all in, bringing myself to the ground on one knee, then presenting a tiny, but monumental symbol to Brooke.
“What are you doing?” Brooke takes a step back, bringing her hands to her mouth. But even if I’m terrified, I’m too far committed to turn back now.
“Brooke Lyn McBride. You are my best friend and the only person I want to spend all of my days with. Will you please marry me… in that random field with all of the people we didn’t invite but couldn’t live without…
? And I promise to take care of you, to feed you pizza regularly, to be your foot warmer forever, and to hold you close on the longest nights, even when you insist you can make it through on your own.
You won’t have to, because I’ll be there. If you’ll let me.”
I’m completely at her mercy as she studies me from above, eyelashes fluttering wildly with emotions—the highest of which very well might be panic, but I’d like to stay optimistic.
“But… you didn’t have to do all this, O.
Not when it’s not…” Her eyes leave mine, surveying the audience much like she did last week at the bar.
I know I’ve put her on the spot, but I needed to do this right.
To make it as authentic as possible. Because for me, and as far as my love for Brooke goes, it’s as genuine as it can get.
“Hey,” I take her fingers in mine, refocusing her attention while still holding the ring around the tip of my index finger. “It’s just you and me, remember?”
She sucks in her lower lip and nods before finally answering, “Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yeah, Babe. Just you and me…”
When she stretches out her hand, I slip the ring onto the most precious of her fingers, and bounce from the ground, pulling her quickly into as much of a hug as my sling will allow, much to the delight of our audience.
“I have something for you, too,” Brooke says shyly against my chest, surprising me with her softness.
She digs into her small crossbody purse for a minute and presents me with a vintage, black Ford Bronco diecast. It looks exactly like the model my Gramps and I refurbished and I drove through high school.
“Is this a ‘76?” I gasp, taking the precious gift in my hands.
Brooke bites down on her lips, nodding excitedly, her golden brown eyes shimmering with happiness.
These little miniatures have always been a hidden piece of her childhood but a small glimmer she’s shared with me on special occasions.
All of Brooke’s are VW vans, and all of mine, thanks to her, are Ford Broncos.
In the last week alone, she’s gifted me two. And that is not nothing.
“I was saving it for… something else,” she admits. “But I wanted to give you a wedding gift.”
This woman… I’m officially counting down to when I’m allowed to kiss her again.
“I love… it.” I almost flounder in my resolve, ready to throw every word of affirmation and verbal expression of my feelings at her that I can.
Instead, with my free arm, I wrap her up and off the ground into another hug and can’t help but breathe her in, grateful that everything is about to change between us but confident that, in many ways, so much won’t.
“This is going to be good, Brooke. I’ll take care of you,” I promise.
She only nods, again, her soft cheek pressed against mine, and her body fitting perfectly in my arms.
“Alright. Win,” I call for my sister after setting Brooke back down on solid ground. Winnie gallops up the steps like she’s been waiting for her moment. “Brooke’s ready to get changed now. Will you and Dinah help her and meet us at the park in ten?”
“Yes, we’ll meet you at the park in twenty, because we’re women and will be ready when we good and well please,” she says, grabbing my fiancé and dragging her up the stairs.
Brooke nervously looks back, mouthing, “See you soon,” before she disappears into the building.
“Jack!” I shout, eyes still pointed at the door my fiancé just entered.
My brother’s at my side immediately.
“Did you bring the stuff I asked for?”
He nods. “Dinah’s got it all.”
“Okay, I need you to move all of these people down the street to the park.”
“Alright, bro…” He hesitates. “And you’re sure you want to do this. Even if…”
Jack and I have had quite a few heart to hearts over the last few days.
He’s always suspected my feelings for Brooke went far beyond friendship, and after our impromptu, or rather, providential engagement, I came clean about the depth of my feelings.
Though I know he’s worried, Jack has been nothing but supportive.
“She’s it for me, Jacky. I’ve got to take this shot.”
“Okay, man. Then, I’ll be by your side. All the way.” Jack smiles, rubbing the shadow of hair on his jaw. “I’ll take care of the crowd. What are you gonna do?”
“I’m gonna get married.”
Exactly twenty-seven minutes later, Brooke walks down Sugartree’s Main Street, lined by our friends and family, towards me.
Wearing the crown of daisies I asked Jack to make her, she’s breathtaking in a cream-colored dress with tiny string straps that look particularly delicate against her porcelain skin, the fabric flowing down the length of her body, accentuating her curves perfectly.
An elderly couple, I’m betting she’s never met before, stops her on her journey and only releases her from their clutches when a woman steps out of the local coffee shop and shouts, “Mrs. Woodhouse, let her be! She’s got places to go!”
“She’s a bride, Georgia, and that groom ain’t goin’ no where!” the woman shouts back but kisses Brooke’s cheek and shoos her on her way, closer to me.
When our eyes catch, that gut feeling in my belly sets itself steady into my heart and mind.
This is right. This is how it was always supposed to be.
Me and Brooke. She smiles her nervous smile, and I rub my hand in a circle over my belly—the secret way I’ve been telling her I love her since I was sixteen and ate every bit of the terrible birthday cake she baked just so she wouldn’t lose her confidence. She says my heart lives in my belly.
I know wherever it is, my heart beats only for Brooke.
Her hands, holding a small bouquet of daisies that match her floral crown, mirrors mine, rubbing a circular pattern over her belly, too. And I know without a doubt, this is going to work.
So it’s here at the end of the street in an overgrown field with kids spitting sunflower seeds—our support system, now gathered in front of us, a camera crew and famous pop star whispering about shots and angles, my brother and sister at our sides, and my dad officiating—where I promise to love and cherish, to protect and honor, to lead and to walk beside my best friend all the days of my life—and to feed her pizza, weekly, on our living room couch, watching reality TV shows, and warming her feet with my body heat—till death do us part.
And when my dad declares us Husband and Wife, and Breezy, his co-officiant, tells me I can kiss my bride… I do.