I’z Do
i’z do
MAX
“You’re going to be late,” Logan says, tugging on my sleeve.
“I’m not going to be late,” I respond.
In my jacket pocket, my phone buzzes with the second alarm I’ve set to make sure we start on time.
Damn, I’m going to be late.
“It’s not a big deal,” Tyrone says, looking up at me, his deep brown eyes too bright.
“Yes, it is. We’ll wait.”
“Max, get down there,” Mac says. “Cynnie’ll be getting worried. I’ll send the kids out when Dakota gets here.”
I glance out of the huge lodge window, over a vista of pines, down a rolling hill to a sparkling lake.
This is my first time in Katonah, this tiny town upstate that Logan’s friend Niall found.
He’s building a compound, Katonah Kinksters Kabins.
The name makes me chuckle. I’ve already bought one of the cabins, but they won’t be ready for at least a year.
Cynnie and I couldn’t wait a year.
I’m not sure how Emily found this place—a private retreat, fittingly called Bumblebee Lodge—on the edge of one of the area’s many lakes.
But the owner was delighted to let us have the lodge for the weekend, given that it’s off season.
Then Cynnie let slip in the Littles Army chat that this was more than a weekend getaway and our numbers swelled to nearly thirty.
Emily called the owner and the owner called the neighbors.
They found everyone a place to stay around the lake.
We had an appointment two hours ago with the justice of the peace at the town hall in Bedford.
After word of our elopement ran through the playgroup like wildfire, Miss Ginger offered to officiate.
We canceled the appointment; the ceremony was relocated to the lodge.
A buffet and a cake appeared like magic an hour ago.
The back deck sprouted rows of chairs, split by a neat aisle leading out to an observatory platform that overlooks the lake.
Miss Ginger, wearing deep green, non-denominational robes, is already waiting on the platform. The wind singing through the pines, which will be our wedding march, ruffles her blue curls around her face. She looks up at the window, meets my eyes, and raises her eyebrows.
I’m late.
I grab Tyrone’s hand. He glances up from his phone, where Dakota’s been giving him updates on her travel from the City, delayed by a flat tire. “I need my seed-bearer and my ring-bearer. We’ll wait as long as it takes.”
He blinks rapidly. “I don’t want to mess up your wedding.”
“You’re not messing up anything. This day wouldn’t be happening without you. Can’t do this without my wingman.”
“She thinks she’s only ten minutes away.”
“Then I’ll see you two in ten minutes.” I squeeze his hand and when he pushes forward, give him a hug.
Stepping back, I straighten his bow tie.
Cynnie wanted everyone to pick their own outfits, whatever they were comfortable wearing.
I just smiled to myself when Ty picked the suit I wore to Cynnie’s grandma’s gala, only in orange, with a black bow tie.
“Dakota’s eyes are gonna pop out when she sees you, my man. ”
He elbows me. “One look at me, Cynnie’s gonna wonder why she’s marrying a doofus like you.”
“Probably. My suit’s nowhere as sharp as yours.
” Figuring that suit I wore for the gala would bring back bad memories, I’m wearing a slim-fit, midnight blue tuxedo.
Cynnie keeps calling my Prince Harry look; I keep reminding her that Bond wore it in Skyfall.
“A man doesn’t need to push others down to raise himself up, though. ”
Ty gives me a teenaged eye roll. “Your hair’s lookin’ sharp. She might still marry you.”
I ruffle his sponge twists and dodge his retaliatory elbow.
Then I give in to Logan’s tugging on my arm and follow him down through the main lodge, where our guests are milling around with drinks, carrying an entire zoo worth of stuffies as they wait.
At the back door, Brenna, wearing a black leather pants suit and matching top hat, waits for us.
She gives me a big grin as she holds open the door.
In our wake, she hollers, “Everyone to their seats!”
I tap the brim of her hat as I pass.
Stepping out onto the wide porch, I smile at Ginger and take a deep breath.
The air’s bracing, making my chest tighten even more than the emotion that’s been riding me since I woke this morning.
It’s cold, but neither icy nor snowy, even though it’s January.
Everyone’s got coats and there are blankets laid out on every row of seats.
But I don’t think we’re going to need them.
Or maybe it’s just me, running hot with nerves.
Logan tugs me across the deck’s wooden boards, down the short bridge, out onto the observation platform nestled between the tall pines. Ginger grins at me as we line up beside her.
“No wedding ever goes to plan,” she says, in a tone that I think is supposed to be reassuring.
It doesn’t reassure me. My head floods with everything else that could go wrong.
The deck could collapse. Is it even rated for thirty plus people?
As our friends begin making their way out of the back door of the lodge and to the rows of seats, every creak of the wood sends a spike of worry up my spine.
The planks that felt solid under my shoes look rickety.
The door swings closed behind Brenna; she makes her way to sit next to Emily.
No kids. No Mac. No Cynnie. Cynnie could have changed her mind and be fleeing out of the front door right now . . .
The back door opens and Cynnie walks out, holding Mac’s arm.
Okay, I guess she’s not fleeing. The deck could still collapse, though.
Seeing my bride settles the chaos in my head.
I’ve seen her wedding dress several times—I helped her design it—but it still takes my breath away.
It pays homage to her culture and to mine while being unmistakably fairy kei.
A pink overskirt, patterned all over with cherry blossoms, trails to the ground.
The overskirt splits over a fluffy petticoat that stops above her knees, revealing her white stockings and platform Mary Janes.
Her legs look insanely long, even though she barely comes up to Mac’s shoulder.
A rose-red silk jacket tops the dress, cropped to just below the swell of her breasts; the hem and long sleeves are embroidered with more cherry blossoms. A few tiny, dizzy bees circle among the flowers.
Instead of a bouquet, she’s carrying one of her smiling, black and gold striped bumbles.
Her face is covered by a hot pink veil, but the veil isn’t fastened to a headband.
It’s fluffed over the brim of a black top hat, the same top hat Brenna and most of our little guests are wearing.
Logan bumps his shoulder into mine. “Drool’s not the look you want on the wedding photos.”
I flex my jaw and close my mouth. He’s right. I was so floored by Cynnie in her wedding gown that I was staring at her with my mouth open.
“If you’re going to faint, give me some warning,” he murmurs.
“I’m not going to faint,” I grumble at him.
Except that my head is swimming, spinning.
How many Daddies get to marry their little queen bees?
I know, objectively, people get married all over the world, every day.
I’ve been to two weddings already this year and it’s only the end of January.
But standing here, looking at Cynnie, I can’t imagine anyone else in the world feeling like I am right now.
My chest and throat are tight. My eyes prickle.
Everything else—the cold, the creaking deck, the murmuring crowd—everything fades away.
The entire universe narrows down to the woman standing fifty feet away, giving me a tiny wave as she waits.
The back door beside her opens again and finally, Ty and Dakota appear. Dakota’s eyes are red and puffy. Her mother, coming out of the door behind her, looks as upset as her daughter.
But Ty is beaming a wide, white grin. His chin’s up; his shoulders are back. He’s got his girl on his arm and he’s the second proudest man alive right now.
I lift my chin. I put my shoulders back. His feelings about his girl don’t hold a candle to mine.
Dakota’s mother peels her daughter’s coat off before she hustles to her seat, revealing the deep pink and black polka-dot, floor-length gown Dakota picked out at the kawaii shop Cynnie took her to.
It should clash with Ty’s traffic-cone orange suit, but somehow just adds to the blaze of color around Cynnie.
My bumble baby should be married in a cloud of color and light.
The same color and light she brings to the lives of everyone around her.
Ty hands Dakota a small pouch before guiding her arm through his. His grin offsets his sedate walk as he leads her down the aisle. She tosses handfuls of bird seed to either side, careful not to hit the seated guests.
When Ty and Dakota reach us, Dakota turns her puffy-eyed face up to me. “Mister Max, I’m so sorry—”
I hug her. “Nothing to be sorry for. I’m just glad you made it. Today wouldn’t be half as much fun without my wingmen.”
When I step back, I hold out my fist. A smile breaks through her distress. She bumps my knuckles with hers and lets Ty lead her to stand beside Logan.
I look down the aisle again. Mac smiles back at me. Cynnie waves again, then they start walking toward us. The lump in my throat grows too thick to breathe around. I swallow so loudly that Logan chuckles.
“Go ahead and faint. I’ll catch you,” he whispers.
I shake my head at him, unable to take my eyes off Cynnie. As she comes out of the shadow of the lodge, I can see her face through the veil. She’s beaming, crying, and laughing all at once. My bumble baby.
I completely lose my mind seeing her tears. I stride away from Ginger, Logan, Ty, and Dakota, thunder down the short aisle, and sweep Cynnie up in my arms.