Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
Hayden
I almost wish I’d taken the advice of our mothers and put off the wedding until September. Not because of the fall foliage, but because there would have been time to plan and host a formal indoor reception.
We could have had the kind of reception during which guests clink their silverware against their glasses to signal they want the bride and groom to kiss.
The guests would have provided the chance to kiss Cara at least a dozen times, or probably more.
One kiss hadn’t been nearly enough.
I watch her laughing with her sister and Mel by the refreshments table, the sound carrying to me over the noise of mingling guests.
Even five hundred thousand kisses wouldn’t be enough.
“If you keep looking at her like that, I’ll have to cover my kids’ eyes,” Aaron says, nudging me with his elbow. “And Mom’s, too.”
“Don’t forget, I was your best man, and I caught you fishing for the garter—or so you said—under the table before the first toast.”
I laugh when my brother’s face reddens. “Just because the first toast hadn’t happened doesn’t mean I hadn’t hit the champagne yet. Speaking of, I haven’t seen you with a glass in your hand.”
“I’m driving us to Boston,” I remind him. “I could have had hired a car, but then my car would have been here, and limiting myself to the one champagne toast felt easier than figuring out travel logistics.”
Aaron chuckles. “Be honest. You didn’t want to let your guard down during the first joint Gamble-Reilly event since before anybody currently living in Sumac Falls was even born.”
“That might have crossed my mind.”
Luckily, everybody is on their best behavior. While I haven’t seen our mothers cross paths at all, I spot Georgia and Hope talking. The conversation appears to be a happy one, with both women smiling, so I relax and leave them to it.
“Hayden,” my mother says, and I turn to find her approaching me. She does not look relaxed. “The big city photographer you just had to have is insisting on a photo of that woman and I together. She just tried to corner me again, for like the fourth time.”
Actually, I just had to have Taylor hire a photographer who wasn’t local precisely because I didn’t want somebody who knew our families or the history between them.
The wedding pictures might be performative—though I’ll keep a few hidden deep in my phone, I’m sure—I was afraid we’d end up with either a lot of Reilly photos or a lot of Gamble photos.
Or, even worse, a bunch of candid shots snapped whenever Gin and Colleen were near each other, hoping to catch a flare-up of the feud.
“I think that’s a pretty standard picture on any wedding photographer’s checklist, Mom,” Aaron tells her, his voice light and a little cajoling in a way that often worked with our mother.
I never mastered it the way he did and decided long ago it’s just part of the second son toolbox.
“But you both disappeared while we were doing the bridal party.”
“I’ll go find Cara and Gin.” I don’t bother trying to lighten my tone. Neither mother is going to be happy about this, but they’re doing it. And the sooner we get it over with, the sooner they can return to their own sides of the reception.
I don’t have any trouble finding the bride. It’s as if my body has some kind of inner Cara-detection system. And, as though she can feel my attention on her, she turns and our gazes lock. I nod my head, and she starts making her way toward me.
Meeting her halfway, I inform her the photographer would like for us to meet at the gazebo with our mothers for a group shot.
“You’re kidding.”
I glance around to make sure nobody’s watching us. Of course people are, because we’re the stars of today’s show, so I lower my voice. “The photographer’s insisting.”
“Do we really need to do this?” she hisses at me. “It’s not exactly going to be a treasured keepsake, you know.”
“It would be strange if we didn’t.”
“Maybe to the photographer, who doesn’t know us. But not a single one of our guests would be surprised by Colleen Reilly and Gin Gamble not wanting to be in a photo together.”
“Valid point,” I admit. “But I said we’d do it, so now we’re doing it.”
She rolls her eyes, but walks to where Gin is visiting with a friend. Cara speaks to her for a moment, and I hope nobody else notices how Gin’s smile is suddenly one hundred percent more forced.
But they come, and we all line up at the bottom of the gazebo steps, still framed by the floral arrangements.
We’d learned when attempting the initial photos of the bride, groom and bridal party that standing in the archway put the photographer below us, and there was a lot of talk about angles. We get it right this time.
“Okay,” the photographer said. “I’ll probably take a few shots, but I’ll be quick so you can get back to the party.”
“Tell your husband to tell his mother that her necklace is hung up on the collar of her dress,” I hear Gin mutter to Cara.
Cara turns to me, but I just nod to let her know I heard. When I turn to my mother, she’s already fixing the necklace. She looks to me to make sure it’s hanging correctly, and I smile and nod again.
“Thank your wife’s mother, please,” she says in a tight voice.
Wow, this is fun. I lean forward so I can look across Cara to look her mother in the eye. “Thank you, Gin.”
She doesn’t smile, but her expression softens slightly. Very slightly. At least she doesn’t look as though she’s considering making her daughter a widow on her wedding day as the photographer calls for us to smile.
When she’s satisfied she’s got a good shot, everybody scatters again. I try to catch Cara’s arm, but she gives me an apologetic look and goes after Gin.
While I’m careful to keep a smile on my face, my annoyance increases with every passing moment.
It may be understandable that a generations-long feud between two families leads to a more stringent bride side versus groom side than one usually sees at a wedding, but that division among the guests is also keeping me away from my bride.
I distract myself for as long as I can, talking with Taylor and Bill, and trying to talk my nephew out of peeing behind the gazebo instead of walking to the very nice portable toilets we’d rented and had placed at the edge of the town square.
I want a few minutes with Cara, so I climb the gazebo steps.
“If I could get everybody’s attention,” I say, broadcasting across the crowd with my boardroom voice.
It works and everybody quiets. “First, I want to thank everybody for coming. It means a lot to us. And we hope you’re all having a good time, but I think it’s about time I get to dance with my wife. ”
My wife.
The pleasure of saying those words out loud is still pulsing through me when I find Cara in the crowd. Her eyes widen slightly, but she’s smiling as she makes her way to the gazebo at the urging of the guests closest to her.
When she reaches the top of the stairs, I reach out and something deep in my soul sighs with contentment as she slides her hand into mine. And thanks to the crowd watching us, I don’t have to mask what I’m feeling when I slide my hand around her waist and pull her close.
The song begins and, thanks to the speakers being on the gazebo with us, it’s loud. But Cara laughs and leans into me as I lead her in circles. I’m careful to keep us away from the steps, while also staying within the flower-framed opening for the photos everybody’s taking.
“I think this is the last thing on our reception checklist,” I say. My cheek’s practically pressed against hers in order to be heard, but I don’t mind. “Especially since we already ate the cake.”
“Daisy talked me into doing the cake early.”
“She’s hard to resist.”
“She made a compelling argument. For one, she’s been taught some strong opinions about food sitting outside. But mostly, she argued that eating cake would give us all energy and put everybody in a good mood.”
I laugh, able to picture those words coming out of my niece’s mouth so clearly. “Like alcohol, but fun for all ages.”
“Exactly.” She rests her forehead against my shoulder. “Is it just me, or is this a very long song?”
It’s just her. As far as I’m concerned, it can’t go on long enough. She’s in my arms and if the music is the only reason why, I don’t want the song to end.
“How are you holding up?” I ask, because she does sound tired.
“I’m running out of gas,” she admits. “I know weddings are a lot for any bride, but having to watch everything I say and do—right down to being constantly aware of my facial expressions—is exhausting.”
“We’ll start working our way through the guests to say our goodbyes, then.”
She laughs. “It’s a little early for that. There’s going to be a lot of cleanup.”
“That’s being taken care of.”
“Of course it is. Are we going to tell our friends and family we have to get home to your dog?”
“I do miss Penny, but I don’t intend to tell our friends and family anything. I couldn’t wait to get you to the altar, so they’ll assume I can’t wait to get home for our wedding night.”
She blushes and buries her face in my shoulder to hide it. My pulse quickens, and it takes every bit of self-control I can muster to not tighten my hold on her.
I’m taking Cara home with me. She’s going to be in my home—in my world—for the weekend. I know it’s all for appearances, but we’re getting out of this town.
Together.