Chapter 21
Harper
I wake up in Maya's guest room to text notifications and the smell of June's cookies—which apparently she's been perfecting since four AM. My wedding day. The words feel surreal even in my head.
Today's the day, Harps.
I text him back:
Today's the day. Nearly nine years in the making.
His response is immediate:
Worth every broken moment.
"She's awake!" Maya announces from the doorway, already in her matron of honor dress despite it being barely seven AM. She looks radiant even though I know she was up half the night with pregnancy insomnia.
"How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough to see you grinning at your phone like a teenager." She waddles in—her word, not mine—carrying a tray of coffee and June's cookies. "June's been here since dawn. She's set up a whole salon in my kitchen."
"Of course she has."
June appears behind Maya, already perfectly put together. "Harper Lane, soon to be Wilder, get your butt downstairs. We have exactly seven hours to make you into a bride."
"I am a bride."
"You're a bride-to-be in pajamas with bedhead. There's a difference."
They hustle me downstairs where June has indeed transformed Maya's kitchen into a beauty parlor. Curling irons, makeup palettes, and enough hairspray to damage the ozone layer cover every surface.
"This is excessive," I protest as June pushes me into a chair.
"Your wedding is not the time to discover minimalism," June says, already sectioning my hair. "We're going full romance novel cover today."
"I don't want to look like a romance novel—"
"Fine, classy romance. Literary fiction with a happy ending."
Maya's already crying as she watches June work. "I'm sorry, it's the hormones. And also you're getting married. To Nate. Finally."
"Don't you start," June warns her. "I spent twenty minutes on your mascara."
My phone buzzes.
Nate:
Lucas is force-feeding me breakfast. Says I can't get married on an empty stomach.
Me:
June's doing my hair. Might look like a poodle.
Nate:
Impossible. You'll be perfect.
Me:
You haven't seen June with a curling iron.
Nate:
Don't care. Marrying you anyway.
"Stop texting the groom!" June swats my hand. "It's bad luck."
"We've covered this. All our bad luck is used up."
"Don't jinx it," both June and Maya say simultaneously.
I set the phone down, but I'm smiling. In six hours, I'll be Harper Lane-Wilder. Eight years, one breakup, six years apart, one awful investor, and a thousand mistakes later—we're actually doing this.
"Are you ready for this?" Maya asks, reading my mind.
"I've been ready for years," I tell her. "We just took the long way around."
June steps back to survey her work. "And sometimes the long way is the only way that gets you where you need to be."
My phone buzzes one more time.
Nate:
See you at two o'clock, Harps.
Me:
Can't wait.
The dress hangs on the back of Maya's bedroom door like a promise. My mother's dress—the one Adam somehow kept safe all these years, now altered to fit me perfectly. The ivory silk catches the morning light, and I have to touch it to make sure it's real.
"Don't cry yet!" June warns. "I just finished your makeup."
A knock at the door makes us all turn. Adam stands there in his suit, Emma bouncing beside him in her flower girl dress—a confection of lavender.
"Ready for this?" Adam asks, and there's weight to the question. He knows our history, was there for the aftermath six years ago when Nate left.
"Ready," I tell him, meaning it.
Emma tugs on my robe. "Aunt Harper, look!" She opens her basket to show perfectly arranged rose petals. "I've been practicing. Maya taught me to throw them in arcs for maximum coverage."
"Maximum coverage?" I look at Maya.
"We're doing this properly," Maya says. "No sparse petal situations on my watch."
Adam takes Emma to the kitchen while I finish getting ready.
June helps me step into the dress, careful of my hair. The silk slides over my skin like water, and when she zips it up, I feel transformed. Not into someone else, but into the truest version of myself—the Harper who always knew she'd marry Nate Wilder, even when it seemed impossible.
"Oh honey," Maya breathes, tears starting again.
"Maya, your mascara!" June protests.
"Screw the mascara. Look at her."
I turn to the mirror and barely recognize myself.
June's made my hair cascade in soft waves, tiny wildflowers woven throughout—picked from the field behind the willow tree this morning, she tells me.
The dress fits perfectly, elegant and simple, exactly why Mom chose it for herself all those years ago.
"You look like a princess!" Emma declares, bounding back into the room. "A real one, not the cartoon kind."
"The best kind of princess," Adam agrees, his voice rough. "Mom and Dad would be so proud, Harper."
That breaks me a little, and June has to do emergency tear dabbing.
"None of that," she scolds. "You can cry after the ceremony."
My phone buzzes on the dresser. "Don't you dare check that," June warns.
"Just one peek—"
"Harper Lane!"
But I've already seen it. A photo from Lucas—Nate in his suit at the farm, looking toward the road like he's watching for me. The caption: He's been standing there for twenty minutes.
"He's waiting for me," I say, something fluttering in my chest.
"Then let's not keep him waiting any longer," Adam says, offering his arm.
Emma takes her position at the front, basket at the ready, looking serious about her petal duties.
"Everyone's gathering at the farm," Maya reports, checking her phone. "Mrs. Henderson's already crying and the ceremony hasn't even started."
"Standard," June says. "She cried at my bread rising demonstration last week. Very emotional woman."
I take one last look in the mirror—Harper Lane for the last time—then turn toward my future.
"Let's go get married."
Emma throws a practice handful of petals. "Maximum coverage!"
We all laugh, and just like that, any nerves disappear. This is right. This is exactly where I'm supposed to be.
***
The path to the willow tree is lined with white chairs—just three rows on each side for our closest friends and family. Maybe thirty people who matter most. The string quartet—where did June find a string quartet? —begins playing, and my heart starts hammering.
"Ready?" Adam asks, his arm steady under my hand.
"Beyond ready."
Emma starts her walk, throwing petals in perfect arcs. Maximum coverage achieved. Maya follows, one hand on her bump, moving carefully in her lavender dress. June goes next, turning back once to mouth "Don't trip" which is absolutely not helpful.
Then it's our turn.
The music shifts to the wedding march, and everyone stands. But I only see one person.
Nate.
He's standing under our willow tree in a charcoal gray suit, Lucas beside him as best man, and he's already crying. Not trying to hide it, not wiping the tears away, just standing there letting them fall as he watches me walk toward him.
That breaks my own composure. The tears start immediately, probably ruining June's careful makeup job, but I don't care. Because Nate's looking at me like I'm his whole world, and we're here, finally here.
The walk feels eternal and instant simultaneously. I catalog everything—the sun filtering through the willow branches, Duke sitting perfectly still with a bow tie on his collar, the way Nate's hands shake slightly as he waits for me.
Adam and I reach the altar—just a simple arch June decorated with wildflowers—and Nate steps forward before the officiant can even open his mouth.
"I do," Adam says, answering the unasked question. He kisses my cheek, whispers, "Be happy," then places my hand in Nate's.
The contact is electric. Nate's fingers close around mine, and I feel the tremor in them, matching my own.
"Hi," he whispers, not caring that everyone can hear.
"Hi yourself."
"You look—" His voice breaks. "Perfect. You look perfect."
I'm supposed to wait for vows, supposed to follow the script, but I reach up and wipe a tear from his cheek. "So do you."
The officiant clears his throat gently. "Should we begin?"
"We began eight years ago," Nate says, not looking away from me. "We're just making it official."
Someone in the crowd laughs wetly—probably Maya—and the officiant smiles.
"Then let's make it official."
We turn toward each other fully, hands clasped between us, and I think about the journey that brought us here.
The college sweethearts who thought love was easy.
The broken people who learned it wasn't. The couple who chose each other anyway, chose the work, chose the messiness and imperfection and reality of building a life together.
The sun breaks through the clouds at that moment, bathing everything in gold, and I know—know with absolute certainty—that every broken road was leading us here, to this moment, under this tree, with these people watching us finally get it right.
"Dearly beloved," the officiant begins, but I barely hear him.
All I see is Nate, tears still falling, smile radiant, holding my hands like he'll never let go.
And he won't. Not this time. Not ever again.
"Harper and Nate have chosen to write their own vows," the officiant announces, and I feel Nate's hands tighten on mine.
"Would you like to go first?" he whispers.
I nod, pulling out the paper I've carried for days, but when I look at his face—open, vulnerable, completely mine—I fold it back up.
"I had this whole speech prepared," I start, my voice shaky.
"About love and time and second chances.
But standing here now, all I want to say is this: You're my hard choice, Nate Wilder.
The choice that wasn't easy or simple or clean.
We've broken each other and rebuilt each other.
We've been apart longer than we were together. We've done everything wrong."
I have to pause, tears making it hard to speak.