Chapter 22 #2
“Oh, no. It wasn’t real,” I whispered, motioning to our surroundings. Though I’d just been feeling similar sentiments, I wasn’t in any place to share it. “Not like this.”
She smiled and wiped a lone tear from her cheek. “When you believe that, I’ll believe that. But until then…sometimes good things can happen when you least expect it. And it’s been so fun for me to see Tate so happy.”
Those were the words whirring around in my head the rest of the day.
The reception was held in a white tent on Horseshoe Holler’s property. Will had gone home after the reception, after making me promise to answer his next phone call. To my surprise, Tate wasted no time in asking me to dance. Most likely as a way to keep me close. But I went willingly.
“Don’t these people know the amount of money you can save by just hopping over the state line and hitting up a courthouse?” I said, watching somewhat wistfully as the couple in love danced across the room from us on the dance floor.
“Amateurs,” he agreed.
“I think I would rather take all the money spent on the wedding and put it toward a really good honeymoon.”
My words just hung in the air while I frantically sought a way to backtrack.
He pulled back, his brows lifted with a bemused expression. “I don’t need much money for a good honeymoon.”
Heat bloomed on my cheeks. How long was this song? Tate watched me, a smile lifting his lips, as though he were proud of the effect his words obviously had on me.
“I’m not talking about us,” I said, brushing a piece of hair behind my ear that refused to stay tucked. “Just people in general.”
“Oh,” Tate said, not believing me for a second. “So…in general, what kind of honeymoon would you have wanted—if it had been a real wedding?” His eyes flicked down to mine, skimming softly over the last two words.
I swallowed. “Are you saying that a stay in a princess-themed inn in our hometown wouldn’t be on your list?”
He smiled. “I didn’t say that. I’m just wondering what you’d pick.”
I countered, unwilling to share mine just yet until I knew where his head was going. “You first. What’s your dream honeymoon?”
“I’d be happy with a cabin in the woods.”
My stomach flipped. Maybe it was the way we were swaying softly against each other.
“What would we—you guys—do for food?” I fumbled and prayed he wouldn’t call attention to it.
An impish look crossed his face. One that caused me to stop breathing for a moment. “We’d come out for some fresh air and food whenever we needed to. We’d go on walks. Ride four-wheelers. Horses. Watch movies. Just spend a week off the grid. Now, what’s yours?”
The combination of his low voice and the magical imagery he just spelled out sent a trail of goosebumps across my skin. But I was close enough to recognize that the pounding of my heart was wrong; Will’s words about him breaking my heart for a job were doing a number on me.
We might be something like friends, but to find myself suddenly wanting exactly what he wanted for something so intimate as a honeymoon seemed too risky. It showed too many cards for our situation. I had to keep a few held back for my own self-preservation.
“I’ve always wanted to go to Greece.”
His brows raised. “Wow. So you…guys…would be busy sightseeing and all that?”
“No, we’d have…time to do lots of things. Besides, I wouldn’t want to go to Athens or a big city like that. Something smaller on the coast. More intimate.”
“More what?”
I stepped on his toes.
He pulled me closer, breathing out a laugh. “You’re too easy, Rawlins.”
My cheeks were flaming, but it was his use of my last name that had me sobering.
“What kind of wedding would you want?” I asked.
The question made me shy. I looked away, watching the crowds around us while we swayed slightly offbeat to the song “A Thousand Years.” I felt him consider me for a long moment.
“I’d want to rent out the whole high school football stadium and invite a massive number of people. I’d want to be sure and talk to everyone in town. Maybe I’d do a guitar solo...”
My eyes lifted to his and found him awaiting my reaction.
“Liar,” I said. “You don’t like people that much.”
He smiled. I was waiting for him to say more, but instead, he only pulled me closer, tighter, as the last chorus belted through the crowd.
Images of standing across from Tate in a courthouse while he wiped a tear from my eye came to mind. We would forever be a part of the other’s story. No matter what happened, our history had intertwined for a brief moment. There was something so beautiful about that thought.
When the song was over, we grabbed a drink.
Though the champagne was flowing, I reached for a glass of water and noticed Tate doing the same.
He seemed more relaxed with me, but now I wondered if it was performative more than anything.
His eyes were constantly in motion. We moved to an empty table where we sat side by side, taking a breather to watch the crowds.
Tom and Ann had stolen away for a quiet moment together on the dance floor.
I had just taken my first sip of water when Tate said, “We need to pick a song.”
I stilled, holding the water in my mouth for a bit until I could swallow. The DJ was currently calling a couple of people up to the mic to make a toast to the happy couple.
“What?”
“It just came to my attention tonight that we never picked a song, and we never had a first dance.”
“I can’t believe those details escaped us in all of our planning,” I remarked, a finger at my chin.
“I know. So…let’s pick one.”
“Why should we have a song? Wouldn’t that just…” I trailed off.
He held out his hands. “Hey. It’s going on my record either way. And I’m not going to be slacking as a husband. We need a song. Maybe we should pick up a cake on the way home.”
“Wait. We can get a cake? Now we’re talking.”
He grinned. “The grocery store’s already closed.”
I sighed. “Dang. So we need a song that commemorates our time together? What, like ‘Goodbye, Earl’?”
He laughed, low and husky, and I wanted to bottle up the sound.
“I’m thinking more sweet and less murder, Rawlins.”
“Rawlins?” I asked, his playfulness leaving me feeling bold. “Here we are talking about our wedding.”
He leaned back in his seat, his arm around the back of my chair, while his hand lightly tugged on my hair.
“You really want to do that, Liv Walker?”
At the sound of our names together, my brain suddenly rewired to some alternate universe.
One of Tate and me kissing and snuggling on the couch.
Suddenly, I was pregnant, and Tate was a beaming soon-to-be dad.
Then we were bringing our first baby home from the hospital.
There we were dancing in the kitchen, me taking a fresh loaf of bread from the oven.
Shooting hoops in the driveway with our kids.
Picnics, tractor rides, and popsicles on the front porch. Like a family from a movie.
I blinked, not sure what to say.
“Probably not. To be safe,” I said—self-preservation at its finest.
“Do you have a song in mind?” he asked, his eyes looking pensive. Melancholy, even.
I thought for a moment, not sure if there was a song that would capture the feeling of our whirlwind few weeks. Maybe it would be better to leave it to chance.
“How about whatever the DJ plays next is our song?”
A smile broke out across his face. “Deal.”
To my surprise, he stood and held out a hand to pull me up. A groomsman had just finished his toast, leaving all the guests laughing through their tears. Tate tugged me to the dance floor.
“Why are we doing this again?” I asked, my arms going too willingly around his neck and thinking of things like collateral damage.
“I’ve never been a husband before, so I’m practicing. If we get divorced, it’s gonna be your fault for sure.”
I laughed, but I couldn’t look at him. I wouldn’t look at him. Because by this time, a familiar song began to play.
There was a sultry look in his eyes as “Yours” by Russel Dickerson came over the speakers.
It was a look I didn’t trust myself around.
Somewhere outside of this room was a man who had made a grown woman scared of the dark.
Scared of life. But now, I was dancing to our song with my husband, and the feel of his strong body against mine made me feel alive again.
Safe. I liked the fact that we had a song.
I liked the way he pushed me in our boxing lessons.
I liked the way he brought me back to life.
And I really liked the way he tucked that wayward piece of hair behind my ear, like it was something he always did.
He could kiss me so easily right now.
In one of my attempts at bravery, I looked up at him. The song was almost over, our chance almost gone.
“I’m not going to kiss you, Rawlins,” he said, his voice low with an annoyed edge. “Your brother is standing over there glaring at me. So get that out of your head.”
I laughed, my head falling on his shoulder. “I thought you weren’t scared of him.”
He wrinkled his nose, barely containing his grin. “I’m not. I’m just letting him have this one.”
I was no longer going to entertain the thought that I was just a job to him. It was more than that. Our shared history and love of my brother put us in a different category than just a job.
But this was a job. His job.
And I wasn’t sure where that left us.