Epilogue #2
The congregation laughs. I barely notice because I’m waiting for my bride.
Winnie
I don’t recognize the woman in the mirror. She’s wearing an elegant lace dress that Mindy calls a confection.
My grandmother’s pearl necklace rests against my collarbone—something borrowed.
Nonna’s lace handkerchief from Italy is wrapped around my bouquet—something old.
New earrings from my parents catch the afternoon light streaming through the small room at the back of the chapel.
And sewn carefully into the hem is a small blue swatch of fabric from Patton’s uniform. Something blue.
The woman in the mirror looks happy. Really, truly happy
Soon, she’ll be Winnie Cross.
That woman would be me.
My stomach swoops. I’m giddy and terrified in equal measure, which seems about right for someone who spent the first four months of knowing Patton Cross absolutely certain we couldn’t stand each other.
“Your grandfather would have loved him,” Nonna says in Italian from behind me, adjusting my veil with her knobby, arthritic hands.
I meet her eyes in the mirror. “You think?”
“I know.” Her smile is soft, certain. “Strong, quiet, protective. Takes care of what’s his.”
“I’m his,” I say, testing the words. They feel right. Solid. True.
“And he’s yours.”
We hug and I try not to cry while my mother dabs at her own tears and smiles at me. My father keeps checking his watch because he’s afraid we’ll be late, even though the ceremony is a mere three yards down the hall, but his eyes are suspiciously bright.
This is family. This is love.
My mind flips through mental snapshots like pages in my photo album—my whole life leading to this moment.
The album sitting at home on our coffee table is nearly full now.
Photos from this past year, including our first official date, at Crush Cakes when he proposed, my family moving to town over the summer, planning this wedding, just living our normal, beautiful, everyday life together.
Today’s photos will complete it.
“You ready, sweetheart?” Grandma asks.
“I think so. Yes. Definitely yes.”
She laughs. “That’s how I felt marrying your grandfather.”
“Really?”
“Really. Petrified and certain all at once.”
“That’s exactly it.” I squeeze her hand.
My mom asks, “Do you love him?”
“So much, Mama.”
“Then that’s all that matters.”
We hug again, both crying, and she laughs amidst her tears.
Through the door, music starts. The soft rustle of guests settling into their seats. My pulse is pounding out a steady beat.
My father offers his arm. His expression is teasing, but his voice cracks slightly. “You sure about this guy?”
“More sure than anything.”
“He’s good to you?”
“The best.”
His eyes get misty as he glances at his watch one last time. “Then let’s not keep him waiting.”
We walk to the doors, and through the narrow opening, I can see the candlelit chapel, the flowers, the people we love. And at the front, in his navy suit, looking handsome and hopeful and like he might actually be as excited as I am, stands Patton.
My heart nearly bursts.
Everyone stands. But I only see him.
The moment Patton’s gaze lands on me, his face opens with pure love. Pure joy. His rare, beautiful smile that used to be so hard-won and now comes easier, especially for me.
I walk toward him, toward our future, my father’s arm steady beneath my hand. When we reach the front, Dad kisses my cheek and places my hand in Patton’s.
“Take care of my girl.” He says it in Italian, but somehow Patton understands.
“Always,” Patton promises, his voice rough with emotion.
Our fingers tangle together, holding tight, and we turn to face each other. His hazel eyes are more whiskey than green today, warm and full of everything he’s learned to let himself feel.
The officiant talks about love and choice and bravery. About two people who found each other in a small town through bets and bickering, through squirrels and blizzards, through fear and trust.
“Love isn’t about avoiding risk,” he says. “It’s about finding someone worth the risk.”
Patton’s thumb brushes across my knuckles, and I’m smiling so hard my face hurts.
When it’s time for vows, Patton goes first. His voice is steady and so are his hands as he holds mine.
“Winnie, when I met you, I was scared, rare for being someone who works in dangerous situations. Afraid of feeling, losing, living.” He pauses, his eyes never leaving mine.
“You taught me that being brave doesn’t mean not being scared.
It means choosing love anyway. I choose you.
Today, tomorrow, every day after.” He takes a breath, and his mouth quirks up.
“And I promise to bring you coffee in the morning.”
Everyone laughs.
He continues, “I promise to fix things when they break. To be your partner in all things. And I promise to keep making you laugh, even when I’m being grouchy.” His expression softens. “I promise to be careful, even when I’m cocky. I love you, Winnie.”
I could kiss him now, but it’s my turn. I didn’t write anything down—couldn’t put the right words to paper.
But standing here, looking at him, they come easily.
“Patton, I promise to let you help me, even when it’s hard.
” My voice wavers. “I promise to make your house a home and welcome you every day with appreciation. I promise to fill it with color and probably too many throw pillows.”
Everyone laughs, and I catch Patton’s smile widening.
“I promise to stand beside you through all of life’s ups and downs. And I promise to love you through everything—fires, fears, and all the moments in between.” I squeeze his hands. “I love you, Patton Cross. Today, tomorrow, always.”
The rings are simple bands, inscribed inside with the words Forever yours. We slide them on and the officiant declares, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
Patton cups my face with both hands, gentle and sure, and kisses me softly. Then deeper. The chapel erupts in cheers and whistles—mostly from the firefighter crew—but I barely hear them.
We walk back down the aisle as Mr. and Mrs. Cross, hand in hand, grinning widely, unable to stop looking at each other.
The reception at Crush Cakes is perfect.
Tables overflow with food from Nonna’s Table, my parents’ new food truck that’s become a town favorite.
Crush Cakes tower on the dessert table alongside both grandmas’ brownies—a peace offering.
Music fills the space, and everyone we love is here, dancing and laughing and celebrating with us.
Austin’s toast is surprisingly touching. My brother’s is embarrassingly detailed. Joyce’s is full of wisdom and tears.
But the first dance is just us. Slow and sweet and intimate, Patton’s arms around me feel like home.
“Hi, husband,” I whisper against his shoulder.
“Hi, wife,” he says back, and I feel him smile against my hair.
We dance, surrounded by our found family, our small town, our people.
Later, we leave to cheers and applause, his truck decorated with Just Married and trailing tin cans. Just us, finally.
“Want to go home first before we head over to the Timber’s Edge Inn?”
We reserved their biggest suite, but can’t stay more than a couple of nights since Patton won’t get time off until next month, when we have a Valentine’s Day honeymoon scheduled.
Plus, we’re already planning the first anniversary of the bakery’s opening, having met the benchmarks outlined in Captain Kendrick’s will for success.
“I want to carry you over the threshold.”
“That’s very traditional of you, Lieutenant Cross.”
His mouth quirks. “I have my moments.”
At our house—our home—he lifts me in the classic bridal carry while I laugh and he grins. He sets me down gently in the living room, and we stand there in our wedding clothes, just looking at each other.
“Mrs. Cross,” he says.
“Mr. Cross,” I reply.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
We kiss, sweet and long and full of promise.
The photo album sits on the coffee table where I left it yesterday. Tomorrow we’ll add today’s photos, fill the last blank pages. Then we’ll make new memories—working in offices across from each other, being on the same team at Tacos & Trivia, and baking Crush Cakes together.
But tonight, we’re two people who were afraid, but chose love and who are finally, beautifully, completely whole.