Chapter 19
Late-March
Wedding Day
Cream silk shifted along Kyla’s legs as she crossed the barn threshold. Her boots met old planks with a heavy, certain sound. The whole damn town seemed squeezed in beneath the string lights. Everyone leaned forward like they had bet on her.
She smoothed her thumb over the knife tattoo hiding just inside her wrist. Her heart hammered fast and wild. She started down the aisle toward the man at the end. Her focus locked on him the second he saw her and only her.
Light spilled across the floor in crooked stripes warmer than the rows of rented chairs filled with faces. Neighbors who had first eyed her sideways now dropped by for recipe swaps or to wag their fingers about Titus’s boots at her kitchen door.
Someone sniffled in the third row. Two old cowboys nodded at each other with arms crossed and hats in their laps as if they might be asked to bless the vows. The air carried early March cold melt and damp hay with the bite of snow not done yet. Her spine straightened just shy of a dare.
Her dress skimmed her calves. The cut sat sharp at her shoulders and dipped low enough at the back to flash the upper curve of a birthmark. No one had pressed her into stilettos or ruffles. Boots scuffed from one wild spring night on a back fence peeked with each slow step.
The silk moved when her thigh flexed. The hem swished with every stride. This was what she had chosen. A dress that claimed space and left no inch to pretend away.
Each step meant letting go of city hustle and that hungry loneliness that followed her out of every kitchen she ever quit. Here someone’s grandma dabbed her cheeks and looked up with open hope it bruised.
The food co-op manager shot her a sheepish thumbs-up two seats from a young ranch hand who had tried to hit on her last New Year’s. Each face carried history. Tiny moments lived and clumsy apologies made. Threads tied back to the woman moving down the barn’s heartline now.
Her grip tightened around the tiny bouquet of ranunculus and blue wildflowers tied tight with butcher’s twine. Her hands stayed steady enough to fake bravado. Her pulse lived high in her throat.
String lights flickered and cast half-moons on the aisle. No one spoke. Even the chairs stopped scraping. Everyone waited half a beat to see if she would smile or run.
Titus waited under the crooked arch. Broad-shouldered and out of breath like he had run a mile to beat her here. He did not blink. His tux shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow because formal did not stretch all the way to the forearms on this ranch.
The fabric hugged skin tanned to deep gold. Veins stood out along the lines she had traced a hundred times in the dark.
The tip of his tongue pressed to the corner of his mouth and dampened a grin that kept breaking through. His eyes caught on her mouth then dropped to her hand then snapped back up and filled slow and dangerous until she nearly lost her footing.
Kyla kept moving. Half the people here had doubted she belonged. Now every last one bore witness. Each bootstep echoed. Her hips swayed under silk.
The back of her neck prickled with nerves she let drive her on. She zeroed in on the space between his feet and counted out each stride.
She let herself belong with every plank she passed. The weight of her choices pressed hot at the base of her spine.
Three years gone from kitchens where she never dared say ours. Now every brush of silk or battered boot leather marked a line between then and now.
The barn’s wide doors swung in with the breeze and creaked behind her. Roscoe sprawled by the old fence. His tail thumped once before his head drooped onto crossed paws. Near the side wall the supper club crew grinned and nudged each other.
A row of aprons swapped for pressed shirts. Even Lola’s recipe box tied shut with the ribbon Kyla had knotted at midnight sat high on the piano by the altar. Proof that ghosts could approve a future.
A flush crept up her throat. Kyla caught Titus’s gaze and her lungs locked up. Heat flared between collarbones and belly. He looked terrified and proud. Like a man who knew what it cost to stake a claim and meant to pay full price anyway.
She let her mouth twitch.
Not quite a smile.
More an unspoken dare.
Come get me.
Someone’s phone pinged and got slapped silent. Kyla held onto the hush. Sweat slicked the inside of her palms. Her bouquet trembled for half a second.
She straightened her shoulders and squeezed, cutting off old doubts at the root. Not one person here had ever seen her knees buckle and they would not now. Not even as the day blurred between memory and the dream she had built from scratch.
Titus sucked in a shaky breath and tugged at his cuffs but his stance never shifted. He looked at her like a promise meant for two. Unsparing and clear.
He had not flinched the first time she waltzed into the calving shed. He had not balked when she crashed his kitchen. He sure as hell would not duck now that every neighbor and church lady bore witness.
Kyla’s skin prickled under the dress. Warmth swept from scalp to knees. Every part of her that once doubted stood up straight now. She took her time. Let each step mark her in a way nothing in Brooklyn or Atlanta or the gleaming sanitized kitchens of her past ever could.
A bit of her old swagger returned tucked between the press of thighs and the slow roll of her left hip. If she was going to fall. If she was going to claim this barn, this man, this stitched-together world, it would be at her own speed.
She reached the altar and the last footfall seemed to swallow sound. All she could do was breathe. All she wanted was already waiting at the end of the aisle. Hands outstretched. Face cracked wide open in a look she had been working toward all her life.
Titus reached for her hands. Callused and with heat brimming beneath rough skin. Kyla took them like she had been learning the shape all her life. His thumb traced circles she did not think he meant.
Nerves tightened in her belly. This close the space between them cinched down. Everything she had wanted sat right here caught in the cracks of his voice as he spoke her name.
He tried to smile, mouth twitching at the corners. But he did not trust himself to speak first. Kyla’s laugh stuck in her throat. Somebody sniffled behind her. Someone else let out a quiet damn.
Boot soles scuffed and butcher’s paper crinkled from the kitchen crew up front. All her attention stayed welded to the man clinging to her fingers as if this was the only rope left.
They had not rehearsed their vows. The officiant nodded with her face lost behind a spray of wildflowers. Titus went first. Voice caught up on a rough edge.
“Kyla Denise Lee, you crashed my ranch and my whole damn life. You made it impossible to pretend I could build anything that mattered without you in it. I promise to mess up, probably loud and ugly, but never let you fight alone. You made me brave. I want you everywhere: kitchen, hayloft, hell, the bank boardroom. I am yours. Still scared sometimes. Mostly proud.”
He squeezed her hands like he needed that reminder. Kyla bit her bottom lip. Her reply tumbled out, her throat scratchy.
“Titus Jonathan Brooks, you make the small hours worth waiting for. I promise not to fix you unless you are on fire—and then only after you say please. I want my future to sound like you calling me home. I swear I will not hide my stubborn or run from yours. I promise to build a life where nobody’s success means shrinking, least of all mine.
Oh, and I will keep your damn coffee pot running. ”
One of the old men barked out a laugh. The applause stuttered, not quite starting then backed off with a muttered apology. Kyla blinked and tears pricked. Heat raced down her cheeks.
She did not try to hide it. She could not. She gripped his hands harder. Every old story about doing it all alone drained straight through her open palms and into the man swearing himself raw for her.
The officiant motioned and Titus reached for the rings. He fumbled one, hands still unsteady. But he pressed her band onto her finger with aching care.
Before sliding it home he bent and pressed his lips to the spot where her pulse fluttered fastest just beneath the knuckle.
Mouth warm and rough and careful. For a second the barn faded.
Noise far away. His skin left a faint print on hers.
Memory stamped permanent. When she looked up, he smiled. Cheeks gone pink beneath tan.
She took his ring and slid it home. Knuckles knocking gently. Her hand lingered longer than was polite. Thumb running over the line where his work-callused hand joined wedding gold.
The officiant’s words drifted overhead. Something about partnership. Every eye turned witness. Kyla’s brain tracked nothing but the quick exchange of breath between their faces. The pulse beneath her skin beating out a new kind of yes. She barely noticed the invitation.
You may kiss.
Titus stepped into her. One hand settled at her waist and tugged her off-balance by a bare inch. Then his mouth met hers. The first brush stayed patient. Too patient. Lips parting just enough to promise.
Kyla did not wait. She pushed up onto her toes. Used his lapel for balance. Mouth opening with the hunger she never bothered to hide from him.
The kiss stretched. Tide drawing back before slamming into heat. His other hand slid up her spine. Fingers splaying wide. Pressing silk into the small of her back. Their bodies drew together so close it seemed a second vow.
Do not ever think distance can grow here.
The barn filled with sound.
Wolf-whistles.
A shout of "get a room!"
Laughter edged wild and bright. String lights glowed gold overhead. Kyla tasted tears, salt, and sunlight. Breath gone wild. She let him take his time. Let herself answer in kind.
Forgetting they had an audience or a future to report to. When they broke her lipstick left a pink half-moon on his lower lip and his eyes promised trouble and forever at once.