No Gentle Giant (A Small Town Romance)

I know.

Common sense dictates I should be careful what I wish for—and maybe so should he—but I’ve got the funniest feeling this lovely ring on my finger has me itching for wishes unlimited.

Whimpering into his kiss, I start right now, wishing us the moon, the stars, and every soaring beat of my heart.

28

The Golden Word (Alaska)

Months Later

I’ve never seen a wedding come together so fast.

It probably helps that we both have simple tastes.

What helps even more?

Having the entire frigging town come behind us to pitch in, plan, and make it happen.

This is how I know, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that I’ve found more than the woman I’ll spend the rest of my life with. I’ve found my tribe.

The moment I set foot in Heart’s Edge, I knew The Nest was an institution—and even with a few bad apples with sour tongues, the people of this town love their coffee and its keeper.

I get why Fliss had a hard time believing she wasn’t an outcast between Paisley and her father’s past. Not to mention the fact that I hear it takes seven compliments to negate one insult—some psychology tidbit—so I also get why she couldn’t just open her eyes and see how much the good people of Heart’s Edge care.

She had to experience it, their pride and admiration and gratitude.

Hell if it isn’t on full display when our wedding day comes.

The entire town joins us on the outskirts, turning the old Ursa ghost town at the edge of Holt and Libby’s property into a spectacle for the ages.

We’re talking old-timey buildings festooned with flowers that came from—I don’t even know where, considering it’s nippy as hell and all the local plants have wilted. Ms. Wilma has a magic touch when it comes to plants, that’s for damned sure.

We’re deep into autumn, right on winter’s edge, with everybody feeling a little more festive each passing day.

Even so, everything from the old medic’s shack to the farrier’s place to the dashing wild western saloon breathes with green, covered in white lilies and baby’s breath. The air itself swirls with their bright scent, streamers of white and yellow ribbons everywhere, fluttering in the chill breeze.

It’s an unforgettable sight, so striking I puff my chest out in pride.

The saloon was the only building big enough to hold everyone.

I should know, remembering how I helped Holt with the restoration and renovated it into a tourist destination. Most of the folks are packed inside, including a few of the gossip girls who were once rattlesnakes in their whispers about Fliss.

They’re decked out to the nines in pretty dresses and standing by, watching with envious eyes.

Believe me, they begged mighty hard to get invites. I kept questioning whether or not it was wise, but Felicity showed she was the bigger woman once and for all by letting ’em come.

I haven’t gotten a chance to see the blushing bride yet—she’s still got a lick of superstition about bad luck, being a black cat, and wouldn’t dare break that old tradition where a man can’t lay his eyes on his bride before the wedding—but I can imagine I’ll have stars in my eyes when it finally happens.

I’m in a small room off the bar, letting Holt fuss with my tie.

“Quit squirming, or you’ll catch yourself on something and bust right out of that suit!” he orders.

Outside I can hear the restless, merry chatter. Everyone’s getting amped up and excited.

I almost feel like without Morgan Randall here to give Felicity away, the whole town’s stepped up to stand in for him. Every last one of them tells me without words that I—newcomer that I am—had better be good enough for their girl.

I’m gonna try.

I’m gonna try my damnedest.

Because I know in my heart there’s no one in this world who’ll ever be better for me than the coffee girl with those bewildering blue-violet gems for eyes.

“Hey.” Holt settles my tie, then adjusts the shoulders of my trim black waistcoat with a little jerk. Best we could manage, ’cause there wasn’t a tux shop for three states around that carried my size jacket. “Calm down. You’ve done this once before, haven’t you?”

“First weddings aren’t a practice run for number two,” I mutter. My heart’s hoofing it like a dozen racehorses, my palms sweaty. “I was young and dumb the first time around. Clueless, really. This time, with Fliss, I’m going in with eyes wide open. I’m scared as hell I’m gonna fuck it up again, Holt.”

“Far as I know, you didn’t have much fault in that whole mess, yeah?” He looks at me with those glowing gold eyes.

“Yeah. Plenty of mistakes to go around, but damn if I didn’t try to make impossible work till I couldn’t,” I say.

“Exactly. Do that again with the right girl this time. You risk fucking it up, you fight your battles, and you always kiss and make up after.” Holt folds his arms over his chest, looking at me with unexpected gravity when he usually looks a second away from telling a dirty joke. “You think Libby and I don’t still fight like the dickens?”