22. Lucy
twenty-two
Lucy
Dad chuckles softly as he walks me slowly down the aisle. He shakes his head. “That boy is smitten with you, sweetheart.”
My gaze darts from Dad’s face to Nate’s. I can see why he would think so. Nate is focused on me and smiling as if seeing me has made his day. But I know better than to believe Nate Walker is smitten with me. He’s just a talented actor. And, apparently, a talented wedding planner.
When I pulled up to the church building this afternoon, my jaw nearly hit the ground.
This was supposed to be a simple ceremony, a quick wedding with our friends and family.
But somehow it became a picture-perfect wedding scene, like something out of a movie.
I accused Mom and Sloane of changing everything, but they both insisted that it was Nate.
My eyes meet Nate’s again as Dad and I stop at the end of the aisle.
He takes a step closer to us and shakes Dad’s hand.
Dad smiles and pats Nate’s shoulder, then he turns to me, kisses my hand, and sets it in Nate’s outstretched palm.
I’m barely aware of the minister, Abram Foster, speaking or my dad responding as Nate’s large, warm fingers wrap around mine.
He leads me forward to stand before our little audience, and Dad takes his seat beside Mom.
Before we reach our places, I lean in and speak quietly, “Nathaniel.”
He smirks. “Lucifer.”
I roll my eyes, but the corner of my mouth pulls up as I drop his hand and nudge him with my elbow. Sloane’s hands are full with Quinn, so I pass my bouquet off to Skylar and flash a smile at Reese and Emerson.
Quinn smiles and reaches for me, calling, “Lu, Lu!”
I hold her hands and plant a quick kiss on her cheek as I return to my spot.
Nate’s hazel eyes are warm as his soft smile grows.
The setting sun casts a warm glow on his face, and my breath catches in my chest. When did he get so handsome?
He holds both hands out for me, and I draw a deep breath as I slide my fingers into his.
Abram Foster is an incredibly talented speaker, but his usually eloquent words fade into background noise as Nate’s thumbs run back and forth over my knuckles.
I draw a steadying breath as Mr. Foster reads scripture and leads a prayer, but I can’t pull my gaze away from Nate’s strong hands around mine.
I know Nate is trying to soothe my nerves and to convince everyone that we’re in love, but I’m struggling to remind myself that this isn’t real affection; this is for show, like it was at Scott and Kathryn’s last week.
Nate Walker isn’t smitten with me, even though he managed to fool my dad.
This is just friends helping each other out.
Healthcare and childcare.
“Lucy?”
I blink and turn toward Mr. Foster as subdued laughter rolls quietly through our small audience. “Hmm?”
He smirks. “Repeat after me. I, Lucy, take you, Nathaniel.”
I meet Nate’s gaze again, not allowing my eyes to stray from his, despite how distracting he is with his clean-shaven jaw and his navy suit coat that fits his broad shoulders perfectly. I blink and clear my throat, keeping my eyes and mind focused. “I, Lucy, take you, Nathaniel.”
My cheeks feel hot as I repeat each phrase Mr. Foster gives me. I offer a silent prayer that I don’t sound robotic as I stumble my way through the vows that will bind me for the rest of my life to the boy who cut my dolls’ hair when we were kids.
“For as long as we both shall live.”
Nate squeezes my hands, his eyes roaming my face as he swallows. “I, Nathaniel, take you, Lucinda.”
I shoot him a glare, and he smiles as muffled laughter sounds behind us again. “I mean, Lucy.”
I roll my eyes as he continues. But as he speaks each vow to me, with his hazel eyes boring so deeply into mine that it feels as if he can see my soul, I feel the weight of each one land in my chest.
To have and to hold from this day forward.
For better or worse.
For richer or poorer.
In sickness and in health.
To love and to cherish.
For as long as we both shall live.
This is real. The affection we’re showing one another is an act we’re putting on. But these vows aren’t just words. They’re a promise before God and every witness on this hilltop.
They carry weight and a lifelong commitment.
And I’m sure that Nate means every single one.
Nate drops my hand and turns toward Caleb to retrieve our wedding rings. Nate holds them out on his palm, and I take his ring, made of a heavy black metal, as Mr. Foster goes on about the shape of the ring being a symbol of love with no end.
Nate clears his throat, and my eyes meet his as he slides the simple gold band onto my finger. “I give you this ring as a symbol of our unbreakable bond.”
My heart flutters in my chest, and I swallow around the sensation. My hand trembles as I slide Nate’s ring onto his finger and repeat the phrase.
Mr. Foster’s voice is loud and clear as he announces, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
My eyes widen, and Nate smirks. But instead of giving me a quick peck to seal the deal, he turns away from me.
I frown, suddenly worried that he might refuse to kiss me in front of all these people.
Caleb takes a step toward Nate and squirts breath spray into Nate’s mouth.
Aiden holds a small mirror while Nate runs his hands through his hair.
And Miles, Nate’s coworker, who I met this afternoon, runs a lint roller over the shoulders of Nate’s suit coat as chuckles run through our small audience again.
By the time Nate is finished, I’m fighting a laugh. He turns to me and winks. I shake my head as he closes the distance between us. He props my chin on his hand, slowly running his thumb under my lower lip.
He breathes a nearly silent, “Relax, Luce.”
I draw a deep breath and hold it, trying to relax, but I don’t feel very successful.
He leans in and presses a kiss to my mouth gently and carefully.
His lips are surprisingly soft and warm.
The strong scent of mint tickles my nose, and my cheeks heat as I taste it.
I let my eyes slip closed and set my hands on his arms as his free hand lands on my waist. I can barely hear the applause from our guests over my heart drumming in my chest. He pulls away with a smirk, and I’m frozen in place.
I kissed Nate Walker.
And I think I kind of liked it.
My muscles unlock as Mr. Foster introduces us as Mr. and Mrs. Walker.
I turn to take my bouquet from Skylar, but Quinn is reaching for me, so I take her instead.
Nate smiles when I turn back to him with Quinn on my hip.
She claps, grinning so widely that all four of her teeth are on display.
He kisses her head, and she giggles. Nate holds a hand toward me, and I slide my free hand into his.
Together, we walk down the aisle to the same familiar melody that played as I walked in with my dad.
Together, we walk into our future as a family.
The buttery sunlight peeking through the curtains in my bedroom at Nate’s house—our house—crawls across my bed as the sun inches higher in the sky.
Waking up alone the morning after my wedding is an odd feeling.
I didn’t expect to share a room with Nate last night.
I knew I would sleep in my room and he would be in his.
But having my husband spend the night down the hall from me after our wedding feels strange.
When we got to the house last night, he made a joke about carrying me over the threshold, unlocked the door, and let it swing open, then turned to me as if he were going to pick me up, but he thought better of it and laughed it off.
When we got in, he scratched the back of his head, mumbled something about taking a quick shower before bed, then nearly ran up the stairs.
I was too exhausted to think a lot about it.
I retrieved my bathroom essentials from the church camp shower caddy I’d brought over from my apartment and got ready for bed in the downstairs bathroom.
When I finished, I retreated into my room and stayed there the rest of the night, despite hearing his footsteps pace the hallway a few times.
Other than Nate’s off-color behavior when we got home, last night was surprisingly an incredible night. If I close my eyes, I can still picture the pinkish hue the setting sun cast across our wedding ceremony. It was so beautiful.
The jars of baby’s breath and roses lining the aisle to the triangular arbor, which was draped in fabric and more flowers.
The backdrop of the gorgeous sunset over the distant hills and the view of the river from the bluff.
My best friends in their pale pink dresses, the guys in their khakis and white button-down shirts, and Nate in his navy suit.
The lights and candles flickered in the waning light, casting a warm glow over the crockpots lining the tables under the pavilion.
It was a fairytale come to life.
I can’t believe Nate pulled it off in less than two weeks. I don’t really understand why, though. This is the man who would’ve preferred to celebrate Quinn’s birthday with pizza and balloons because it was simpler. Why would he make our wedding plans more complicated than they had to be?
I pull myself up to a sitting position and throw my legs over the side of the bed, wincing slightly when my bare feet touch the cold hardwood floor.
Stretching my back, I run my fingers through my hair.
I frown as they meet something hard, and I pull out a bobby pin.
With a chuckle, I set it on the nightstand with the other pins I pulled out of my hair last night.
Emerson did an excellent job making my fine, straight hair look voluminous in a low bun at the nape of my neck.
But I might be finding bobby pins until our first anniversary.
My eyes widen, and my cheeks heat as the thought settles in my mind.
Nate and I have an anniversary now. I clear my throat and try to set the thought aside.
I grab my diabetes kit from the nightstand and fall into the muscle-memory-driven process of checking my sugar and taking my basal dose of long-acting insulin.
But every few minutes, I catch myself staring at my wedding band as it catches the light filtering through the window and glows like honey on my finger.
Ugh. Get it together, Lucy Jane. Nothing has changed…
Except for my last name. And the fact that I’m legally bound to Nate Walker for the rest of my life.
It’s too easy to recall his intense gaze as he vowed to be my husband, the way his hands felt holding mine, the way my heart squeezed at the sight of the wedding ring on Nate’s broad, callused hand, knowing I’m the one who put it there.
I swallow and shake my head.
It doesn’t mean anything.
Nate and I are friends. We are helping each other out. Despite how dreamy the wedding was, this marriage is mutually beneficial. Not romantic.
I’m home alone today, so I forgo the process of getting dressed, choosing to stay in my pink and white striped pajamas. I slide on some slippers and throw my hair into a messy bun on top of my head, silently critiquing my work. Last night’s bun was much better.
As I walk down the stairs, I suppress a shiver.
The house is eerily quiet without Quinn and Nate here.
Kathryn and Scott took Quinn home from the wedding last night to give Nate and me the night off.
Her wink as she informed me of this decision still makes my face feel hot.
Nate couldn’t get the day off on such short notice, so he won’t be back until tomorrow morning in time to leave for church.
Which means I’ll be spending the day unpacking my things and officially moving in.
When I stride into the kitchen, a bright pink sticky note on the counter in front of the coffee pot draws my attention.
Lucille,
Your breakfast is in the microwave.
Total carb count with the coffee creamer is 42g.
See you in the morning.
Nate
My stomach flutters as I draw a deep breath. If this is fake—if this is all for show—why is he making me breakfast and leaving notes like this when no one else is around to see it?
I frown as I look closer. There’s a smudge in the last sentence, as though he had written another word and erased it when he changed his mind.
Shaking my head to rid myself of these thoughts before they turn wild, I set the note down and open the fridge, looking for the creamer.
Another pink sticky note catches my attention.
This one has Luce scrawled over another smudged spot and is attached to a mug with creamer already poured in it.
My cheeks heat, but I ignore them as I pour coffee, which is still warm, thankfully, into the mug Nate prepared for me. I open the microwave and find a fluffy omelet with ham and cheese, along with two pieces of whole-grain bread, toasted to golden-brown perfection.
Nate Walker woke up early on a Saturday and made me this incredible breakfast before he left for work.
The last time he made me breakfast, he dropped the proposal bomb in the middle of my scrambled eggs.
But he’s not here to suggest life-changing ideas, and no one else is here to see this as a sweet act of kindness from a husband to a wife…
So, why did he bother? Was it out of concern for my blood sugar?
A way to express gratitude for following through with the marriage?
Something more?
I stare at the omelet, wishing I could read Nate’s intention behind the breakfast in the soft folds of egg and cheese.
I shake my head and carry the plate to the island.
This doesn’t mean anything. Nate’s just thorough; that’s all.
Or maybe he made himself two omelets and realized he couldn’t eat them both. That’s a more likely scenario.
It can’t mean anything more.