Epilogue 2
Leah
Five years later.
I had butterflies in my belly watching Cindy fuss with her necklace in the mirror.
The Little Pink Wedding Chapel lived up to its name in every possible way. Pink was everywhere.
Becky and Leland had built something special here, a place where love stories got their happy endings, and today it was Cindy’s turn.
“How did you know?” Cindy asked.
Her eyes were bright with nervous excitement, and the vintage lace gown she’d chosen made her look like she’d stepped out of a fairy tale. “With Jameson, I mean. How did you know so fast that he was the one?”
I smiled, settling deeper into the pink velvet chair in the corner of the bridal suite.
“When you know, you know. That’s what everyone says, and I always thought it was such a cliché until it happened to me.”
“But you’d only known him for one night,” Cindy pressed. “One night in some old cabin in the middle of nowhere, and then you just… moved your whole life across the country for him.”
“It wasn’t just one night.”
I thought back to that storm, and the firelight dancing across Jameson’s face while he told me about his childhood and his parents who couldn’t stop fighting, and the sister he’d grown closer to as a result.
“It was everything that happened that night. I took one look at your brother and knew my life would never be the same again. He’s the kind of man you grab and hold on to as tight as you can.”
From her spot behind Cindy, their grandmother Helen made a soft sound of approval.
Her weathered hands never stopped moving, pinning one last curl into place with practiced precision. “That’s how it was with my Harold,” she said. “One dance at a church social and I knew I’d marry that man. Fifty-two years we had together before he passed.”
Finding Helen had been one of the greatest gifts I’d ever given Jameson.
After we got together, I insisted we try to track down his missing family. He’d been resistant at first, convinced that the past was better left buried, but I’d worn him down with persistence and the promise of something he’d never had… roots.
It had taken months of digging through records and making awkward phone calls, but we’d recovered a grandmother on his mother’s side, plus a whole network of cousins and a few aunts and uncles scattered across the country.
None of them lived in the Ozarks, but every single one had come for our wedding three years ago. And now they were all here again, filling the pews of the Little Pink Wedding Chapel to watch Cindy marry the love of her life.
Even Jameson’s mom and dad were here, under the promise that they stay on opposite sides of the aisle.
Jameson still wasn’t close with his mom, but he’d made good strides with his father.
And now it felt like he had a family. A real family. Something he and Cindy had never thought they’d have when they were growing up.
The door burst open and a tiny whirlwind of pink tulle came racing in, her flower basket swinging wildly from one small hand.
“Is it time yet? Is it time?” Olivia asked, bouncing on her toes. Her red curls, so like mine, were already escaping from the careful braids Helen had done this morning.
I opened my arms, and she launched herself into my lap, vibrating with excitement. “Not yet, honey, but soon.”
She was only four years old, and a day like today didn’t come around often.
She reached into her basket and grabbed a fistful of pink rose petals.
“You have to wait for the right moment,” I told her, gently prying her fingers open before she could scatter petals all over the floor. “Remember what we practiced?”
Olivia nodded solemnly, though I could tell she was already plotting ways to throw flowers at the earliest possible opportunity.
She had her father’s stubborn streak and my impatience, which made for a delightfully chaotic combination.
A knock at the door made us all turn, and then Jameson was stepping inside, looking impossibly handsome in his dark suit.
He’d trimmed his beard for the occasion and pulled his hair back, but he still looked like the rugged mountain man I’d fallen for in that cabin five years ago. Some things never changed.
His eyes found Cindy first, and his whole face softened. “You look beautiful, Cin. He’s not going to know what hit him.”
Cindy’s smile wobbled, tears threatening. “Don’t you dare make me cry. Helen spent an hour on my makeup.”
Jameson held up his hands in surrender, then crossed the room to where Olivia and I were sitting. He pulled us both into his arms, and I breathed in the familiar scent of him.
“How are my two favorite women in the world?” he murmured against my hair.
“Hey now,” Helen said, her eyes twinkling. “I flew a thousand miles to get here. I think I deserve to be on that list too.”
Jameson laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest and into mine. “You’re right, you’re right. How are my four favorite women in the world?” he asked, adding his grandma and his sister to the list.
“Better,” Helen said with a satisfied nod.
Olivia squirmed in my arms, reaching for her basket again. “Daddy, watch! I can throw the flowers!”
Before either of us could stop her, she grabbed another handful of petals and flung them into the air. They rained down over all of us, catching in Jameson’s hair and settling on the shoulders of my bridesmaid dress.
“I threw the flowers. Now you have to kiss her, Daddy!” Olivia announced, bouncing in my arms.
Jameson and I both laughed. I put her down, and then we were on our knees together, picking up scattered rose petals.
“You have to wait and throw them as you walk down the aisle,” I explained, dropping petals back into the basket. “And then Aunt Cindy will smooch her husband.”
“Flowers,” Olivia repeated seriously, like she was committing this to memory. “And then they smooch.”
“Exactly.”
Then she looked up at us with confusion on her face. “But when do you kiss Daddy?”
Jameson laughed, “She kisses me all the time, honey. But not during Cindy’s wedding. Okay?”
Helen clapped her hands together. “Olivia, sweetheart, come with Grandma Helen. Let’s go find your spot. And Cindy, we still need to go find Becky to ask her if the cake arrived yet.”
Olivia took Helen’s outstretched hand, smooching little air kisses into the air and chattering about flowers as they headed for the door. Cindy followed, pausing to squeeze my arm on her way out.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For bringing him back to us.”
I knew what she meant. The rift between their dad and their grandmother, Helen, had been longstanding until I came along and forced a reconciliation.
I watched her go, a beautiful bride on her wedding day.
Then she was gone, and I started to follow, but Jameson caught my wrist.
He tugged me back into the room and shut the door, and before I could ask what he was doing, he had me pinned against it.
“Jameson, we don’t have time for—”
His mouth covered mine, swallowing whatever protest I’d been about to make.
The kiss was deep and thorough, his tongue sliding against mine with a familiarity that still made my knees weak after all these years.
One of his hands came up to cup my breast through my dress, his thumb finding my nipple and circling it until I gasped into his mouth.
He kissed me like we had all the time in the world. As though there weren’t a chapel full of people waiting for the wedding to start.
Jameson made me feel like the only thing that mattered was the press of his body against mine and the heat building between us. He kissed me until I was clutching his shoulders just to stay upright.
When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard.
“What was that for?” I managed to say.
He grinned, that slow, satisfied smile that still made my heart flip. “Olivia said to kiss you. I was just following orders.”
I laughed and swatted his chest, but he caught my hand and pressed a kiss to my fingertips.
“I love you,” he said, simple and sure. “Every single day, I love you more than the day before.”
My eyes misted over. “I love you too. Now let’s go watch your sister get married before Olivia throws all the flowers at the wrong time. I could see her pelting the guests with them.”
“And insisting they kiss on demand,” he added.
We both chuckled.
Jameson adjusted his pants where he’d gone hard, completely unashamed, then opened the door and smacked my butt lightly as I walked through.
“Let’s go watch Cindy get married off,” he said, taking my hand in his.
And we did.
Will Avery survive a month with Flint as her temporary manager at the local bookstore, Bookish? Find out in the next book, Chosen By The Mountain Man.