Boy, do I love Summer’s optimism and energy.
“By the way, you have five minutes until your dance begins,” she informs Daniel and me. Right, for all her sweetness, she does bossy well.
“Yes, boss,” I say, trying to swallow my anxiety at the thought of dancing in front of everyone. Dan and I decided we’re just going to dance to one of our favorite slow songs, without any fancy choreography.
By the time Daniel pulls me onto the dance floor, I’ve worked myself into a frenzy. But as soon as the song starts and he wraps an arm around my waist, taking my hand in his, some of that tension bleeds away. Dear God, how he holds me, how he looks at me, as if I’m the most precious thing in the world.
“I love you, Dan,” I whisper.
He smiles, kissing the corner of my lips. “I love you too.”
I melt against him, feeling safe and loved in his arms. Once the song is over, others join us on the dance floor.
The very best thing about the wedding dress? It’s so long and voluminous, no one can see my feet. As long as I manage not to step on my own toes, I’m golden.
Between the food and the dancing, the night is a hit. The most memorable parts are the speeches. They start out humorous and relatively safe while our dads hold the mic, but the whole affair quickly spirals into wild and inappropriate when Blake’s turn comes.
By the time the party is over, part of me wishes we could go on, even though I also desperately want our wedding night to begin.
After the last of the guests leave, and the family is carrying our presents to the car, Jenna hugs us both goodbye.
“Any words of wisdom?” I ask as I pull away from her arms. She looks from Dan to me, beaming.
“Laugh often. Don’t go to bed mad. Learn to let go. Things are never as bad as they look like. Don’t say hurtful things. You don’t mean them, and you can’t take them back. Don’t forget to say ‘I love you,’ even after many years pass. Always look for the best in each other. Always love each other. And when there’s a lot of love, you can work everything else out. Together.”
Epilogue
Daniel
Two months later
“Caroline?” I set my keys in the yellow, fish-shaped bowl in the foyer, my hand shaking slightly around the envelope. I was supposed to be home in two hours, but once I got the news, I couldn’t resist. She isn’t in the living room. Upstairs, then.
I jog up the flight of stairs and smile. She added even more books to the bookcase on the upper floor of our house.
Martin’s store is doing just fine since he and Caroline are arranging readings and games with nearby schools almost every second day. She also seems to be returning with new books almost weekly.
We moved into the new house three weeks ago. Four bedrooms is too much space for the two of us. But soon, it won’t be just the two of us.
She’s singing in the bathroom. Through the cracked door, I see her lying in the tub, bubbly water up to her chest.
Her hair is piled up in a bun, and pedicured toes peek out from the edge of the tub. The smell of vanilla assaults my senses. Any day now, I’ll man up and jump in with her even if she’s using one of those sickly sweet bath bombs. Approaching the edge of the tub, I notice the headphones, and the phone lying on the floor next to the tub. As gently as I can, I pull out an earbud. She startles anyway, splashing water and foam everywhere.
“So sorry,” she mumbles, clearing the foam that landed on my shirt. She stops moving when I hold up the envelope. “Is this what I think it is?”
I nod, emotion clogging my throat. “Arrived at my office half an hour ago. I couldn’t wait.”
“Can you take the papers out so I can see them? My hands are wet.”
I waste no time pulling the papers out. There it is, black on white. We are now officially the parents of seven-year-old Hugo and his sister, three-year-old Elisabeth. We had to wait until after the business with Justin Hamel was sorted because having an open case with the courts wouldn’t have worked in our favor with the adoption agency. We decided to settle out of court, and he won’t be bothering anyone I love ever again. Caroline and I filed our adoption petition the next day.
When our social worker told us that older children who are already in the system have less chance of being adopted because couples always want babies, Caroline and I decided on the spot to opt for such cases. One month later, she told us about Hugo and Elisabeth, and we said yes and filed all the papers.
Caroline stands on her knees on the floor of the tub, reading the words again and again.
“We can pick them up in two weeks. Our kids. They’re ours, Dan.”
“Yeah, they are.” I set the papers aside on a dry spot, then cup her face, kissing her cheek, her temple. She’s trembling slightly in my arms, emotion pouring off her. “And we’re going to love them so much. So much.”