Page 52 of Walkoff Wedding

It feels like he’s thought of it all.

“You know, I think any future date I have may forever pale in comparison to this fake one.” I giggle softly.

For a beat, I swear that I almost see disappointment flash in his eyes… as if the idea of me going on a date with anyone else irritates him. But that couldn’t possibly be true, so I chalk it up to a combination of my nerves and the flicker of the candles and reach for the container.

“Have you heard from Brent?” he asks, changing the subject.

I shake my head and grab the fork he’s extended toward me before pulling the top off my takeout. “He sent me a text this morning, saying that he’ll be by the bakery soon, but Amos told me to ignore it and that he would handle it if he shows up. Kind of easier said than done.”

Grant’s eyes darken, his expression hardening as his jaw clenches. “I fucking hate that guy. I’ve been thinking though… since Davis asked us to go out to the Redlight earlier, if Brent really is having us followed or whatever the hell he’s threatening in order to disprove things, then we’re going to have to make sure we’re out in public. We’ll use his own threat against him.” He pauses, shoveling his food into his mouth and chewing. “We can’t stay holed up in the apartment or the bakery.”

“I know. I just… can’t even believe he’s doing this, Grant. I mean, I guess I can believe it, but part of me doesn’t want to believe it,” I whisper between small bites.

Part of me wants to hate him for the things he’s done. For lying to me and trying to force me into a marriage built on deceit with someone cold and calculating and likely abusive. For trying to take the bakery away from me when it’s rightfully mine. For being so hurtful and cruel toward me for my entire life, as if I had wronged him simply by existing.

Then there’s another part of me that… can’t fully hate him. Because despite the mistakes that he’s made and the wrong that he’s done, he did take care of me when I had no one else. He put a roof over my head, clothes on my back, and gave me food to eat. He did the bare minimum, but at least he let me stay in my home. That’s the part of me that feels a little indebted to him. Besides, it’s not in my character to hate anyone, so it all feels like so much at once.

And maybe both things can be true, but I’m still struggling, trying to reconcile these feelings.

“We’re not going to let him win, Addie. He’s an asshole, and he doesn’t deserve a second of the worry you’re giving him. I promise you I’m going to make sure that he never hurts you again. Okay? Trust me.”

Sincerity shines in his eyes, and I allow myself to feel security in what he’s saying, that no matter what, we’ll figure it out. Even if it’s not easy.

“Okay.”

Thankfully, the conversation steers away from Brent and all of the heavy stuff and back into lighter territory when Grant completely misses his mouth and drops the very last bite of his lasagna onto the blanket. It sends me into a fit of giggles, causing my stomach to begin aching from how hard I’m laughing.

I try to stop. Really, I do. “I’m-m sorry. It’s not f-funny,” I wheeze, very ungracefully, but the crestfallen look on his face as he dropped it was possibly the funniest and most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.

Grant chuckles along with me while he cleans up the mess and puts his now empty box back into the picnic basket before stretching his long denim-clad legs out on the blanket.

Unlike him, I’m much slower since I savored every single bite, and I find myself hoping that it won’t be the last time we have my favorite dish together. Hoping that there’s going to be another date like tonight because this might be the best meal I’ve ever shared with anyone.

And not only because of the food.

It’s obvious that the reason Grant did all of this is not just because he’s attentive and considerate but because he knew it would make me feel more at ease, less nervous. Even though we’re still learning about each other, he somehow knows me in a way that no one else does.

Once I’m done and my empty container is put away, I move closer to his spot on the blanket.

“Wanna lay with me and look at the stars? They’re really bright tonight without the city lights,” he asks, lifting his gaze to the sky, then back to me.

“Yeah, I’d… love that.”

Tugging my dress further down on my thighs, I carefully lie back on the blanket next to Grant, our shoulders nearly touching as we gaze up at the endless midnight sky littered with sparkling constellations.

Beneath the stars is my favorite place in the world to be. It’s the one place I feel an overwhelming sense of… peace.

“Do you ever think about how somehow… we exist in a universe that’s endless? Like there’s this entire Milky Way full of planets and stars and cosmos and galaxies. It’s vast beyond comprehension. And yet, somehow, we exist. We’re created with hearts that beat in different rhythms and souls that are tethered to fate,” I whisper quietly, turning my head to look over at Grant.

I expect him to be staring at the same stars that I was, but he’s not looking at the sky at all. He’s looking at me, and his dark, stormy eyes hold mine with an intensity that I can feel somewhere deep in my chest.

Seconds tick by as his eyes linger on mine, but time feels slower.

“It makes you feel kinda… small,” he replies. “But still… significant. When you think about how we’re floating on a rock in the middle of the galaxy, but we’re all under the same sky, no matter where you are. I completely get it.”

Nodding, I turn back to the sky, my eyes finding my favorite constellations by muscle memory. “When I was little, I would constantly search for the constellations at night. I’d lay on the hard concrete in the middle of the driveway and memorize their shapes after spending the day reading book after book until I could spot them without any help. I never got tired of searching for them. It was comforting that, no matter what, I knew the constellations would never disappear. That the stars would always shine. A constant that I desperately needed.”

A hard knot of emotion forms at the base of my throat as I speak. This part of me, the part that’s still a tangled mess, feels the thorns of vulnerability digging deep beneath my skin.

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