The Imperfections

Scowling at me now, she hugs the coaster against her breast. “You stop picking at these. You did beautiful work and they’re absolutely gorgeous.”

I nod my head, reaching over and taking it back from her. “I think so, too, and you know what? The imperfections are my favorite parts. I like the colors running together, I like the split in the wood, I like each and every scar. No two of these are ever the same because of those little details, because of the mistakes that give them character. I could cut wood in the same sizes and shapes, use the same color resin, but they’d all turn out differently—and none of them would look quite like I thought they would when I picked out the pieces. They’d all be beautiful in their own way, though.”

Understanding dawns, and she drawls, “Ooh, I’m the coaster.”

“We’re all coasters,” I tell her, setting the chunk of wood and resin down and turning my gaze back to her. “We’ve all got our own scars and fuck-ups to bring to the table.” Taking her hand, looking into her pretty blue-green eyes, I tell her, “I love you, Alyssa. I want to be with you. I want to marry you and make a family with you, and I don’t expect you to be perfect. I’m sorry if I made you feel like I was holding you to an impossible standard. I’m always gonna be here for you, no matter what mistakes you make. Just do your best, okay? And be honest with me. That’s all I need.”

Alyssa sighs heavily, scooting over and throwing her arms around my neck so she can hug me. “I want to make you happy, Brant.”

“You do,” I assure her, unable to resist the temptation of pushing my fingers through the soft strands of her hair.

“You are going to fuck up my wedding hair,” she warns.

“Yes, I am,” I agree, working my fingers through it.

“Brant,” she complains, sighing at me but not moving her head.

“I like it better when it’s down.” I work the pins free without apology.

“Your sister’s gonna kick your ass. She worked really hard on my hair.”

“It’s all right. Bri will be satisfied that I didn’t make you cry and fuck up your makeup. Can’t please ’em all.”

I finish taking her hair down and mussing it as I run my fingers through it, then I draw her closer and give her a kiss. Alyssa sighs as she breaks away from my lips, but she keeps her arms locked around my neck and her face close.

“Promise you really want to marry me?”

“Promise,” I assure her. “I’m bound to get mad at you sometimes, but it’ll never mean I don’t love you anymore, Alyssa.”

“I really didn’t mean to make you mad,” she insists.

“I know, but you did and you will again. We love each other, but we’ll still get on each other’s nerves from time to time. It’s not the end of the world. We’re gonna be married through good times and bad, right? Partners, no matter what?”

Smiling, Alyssa nods her head. “No matter what.”

Leaning my forehead against hers, I ask, “Can we go get married now?”

She nods again then looks over at the mattress where I dropped her veil. “You’re gonna have to help me put that on.”

“I do not know how to do that,” I inform her, pushing off the window seat and walking over to grab the flimsy material. “Do I just drape it over your head, or…?”

Biting back a grin, she shakes her head at me. “Since you fucked up my wedding hair, you’re going to have to lift the top layer and make a tiny braid underneath so the comb has something to stick to, then fix my top layer and…” She trails off. “I’m gonna have to do this myself, aren’t I?”

Nodding once, I assure her, “I’ll hold the netting until you’re ready for it.”

As if I’ve said something ridiculous, she rolls her eyes and stands, fixing her dress before heading into the bathroom. “It’s not netting.”

“It’s basically your gift wrap.”

“You wrap up things, not people. You calling me property?” she teases as she walks into the bathroom.

“Property of Brantley Morrison,” I call back. “I’m getting it tattooed on your ass. Didn’t I tell you about your wedding present?”

Alyssa shuts the bathroom door in my face. I smile, ’cause now I’m thinking about her pretty little ass.

I stay in the bedroom holding up her veil so it doesn’t wrinkle or whatever the fuck netting does when it gets mangled. It only takes Alyssa a few minutes to get her hair right, then she comes back in, feeling along the top of her head, and instructs me where to stick the little comb piece.

It all seems needlessly complicated to me, but she sure does look pretty once she’s all decked out in her white dress and veil with a smile on her face.