Chapter 10 Sabrina #2
Before I could ask what, he dropped to one knee right there in Marla's kitchen and pulled a small velvet box from his pocket.
My heart stopped.
"Sabrina Meyer," he said, his voice steady and sure, "you've been the most important person in my life since I was eight years old and you shared your peanut butter sandwich with me on the playground.
You've seen me at my worst and somehow decided I was worth loving anyway.
You've built something beautiful in this town, brought people together, created a place that feels like home. "
I was crying again, ugly happy tears that I couldn't seem to stop.
"I don't want to waste any more time being scared," he continued. "I don't want to spend another day without you knowing that you're my first choice, my only choice, my forever choice. Will you marry me?"
"Yes," I whispered, then louder, "Yes, of course yes."
He slipped the ring onto my finger. It was a simple solitaire that caught the kitchen light and threw sparkles across the walls. Then he stood and kissed me again, spinning me around until I was laughing and crying and dizzy with joy.
"You know," he said, setting me back on my feet, "there's a perfectly good wedding setup outside going to waste."
I blinked at him. "What?"
"That damn arch-slash-pergola thing is still up.
The chairs are still there. The flowers are gorgeous.
" His eyes sparkled with mischief and possibility.
"The photographer's still here, the podcaster's still rolling, and I'm pretty sure the minister stuck around hoping to salvage something from this day. "
My breath caught. "Are you suggesting—"
"I'm suggesting we give Hard Timber something to really talk about. Turn this disaster into our beginning." He grinned. "Unless you want to wait months to plan something elaborate?"
I thought about all the gossip, all the drama, all the ways our story had been twisted and turned into entertainment for others.
Then I looked at the man I'd loved for half my life, who was offering me a chance to rewrite our ending in front of everyone who'd watched us stumble through the beginning.
"I think," I said, standing on my tiptoes to kiss him, "Hard Timber's never seen a wedding like this before."
"Well, hell," came a voice from the doorway. "I leave for twenty minutes and miss an engagement?"
We turned to find Marla standing there with the biggest grin I'd ever seen, several of our friends crowding behind her in the doorway.
"Sorry," Ridge called out, not looking sorry at all. "We were helping load equipment and heard you. Wanted to make sure everyone was okay."
Trace kept his arm around me as more people gathered: friends, a few lingering vendors, even the photographer with his camera already clicking away.
"You know," the photographer said, "I've got this gorgeous setup and the light's perfect right now. It would be a shame to waste it."
Nico appeared at his shoulder, his eyes bright with a prospect of a new kind of story. "The Ex-List couple getting married at the site of the celebrity wedding disaster? This is the kind of content that goes viral for all the right reasons."
I looked up at Trace, expecting him to laugh or suggest we wait. Instead, he was looking at me with an expression of wonder and pure love.
"What do you think?" he asked. "Ready to give this town the wedding it deserves?"
An hour later, I stood at the back of the transformed ceremony site in a dress Haven Hart’s stylist had fashioned out of thin air like a modern-day fairy godmother.
I held a bouquet of flowers mixed with greenery that Trace had gathered from the woods behind the Inn while I'd frantically called my parents who were visiting my aunt in Vancouver and his mother who was sitting in the stands of a hockey arena and watching Alex execute a hat trick.
The photographer snapped away, capturing every moment of what was already being called "the most romantic plot twist in Montana history." The podcaster, for once, seemed genuinely moved rather than just looking out for himself.
As I walked down the makeshift aisle toward Trace, who stood waiting for me in his best flannel shirt and a tie that Holt had found somewhere in his truck, I caught sight of faces I'd known my whole life.
Nellie dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.
Gillian smiled and took pictures with her phone.
Even the other men from the Ex-List were there, grinning and calling out good-natured encouragement.
But all I really saw was Trace, solid and sure and waiting for me with an expression of love that it took my breath away.
"Hard Timber gets its celebrity wedding after all," he said when I reached him, just loud enough for our friends to hear. "But I only care about marrying the woman who showed up at my cabin with coffee and honesty and wrecked my life in the best possible way."
"I love you too," I whispered as the minister began the ceremony that would bind us together in front of our friends and Montana and the internet, apparently.
And as we exchanged vows under the big sky with the mountains as our witnesses, I realized that maybe Nellie posting the Ex-List was the best thing that ever happened to me.
Because it led me here. To this moment. To this man who chose me, finally and forever.
To this love that was worth every mistake, every heartbreak, every moment of doubt that brought us to this perfect, chaotic, absolutely right beginning.
Hard Timber got its viral wedding moment after all, just not the one anyone expected. And as Trace kissed me for the first time as my husband, the whole town cheered. I knew we'd given our town a love story worth talking about for years to come.
Maybe someday they’d forget about the list, the rumors, and all the mistakes, but I hoped they’d remember that even in Hard Timber, love gets the last word.