Page 125 of Lost Love on 6th Street

Her father and I shake hands before he retreats, and it’s just me and Eleanor at the end of the aisle.

Well, and Jolene. When it came to picking an officiant, there was only one woman for the job.

Eleanor’s smile is full of mischief. I narrow my eyes at her. What are you up to?

The smile turns into a full-on grin. She grabs the front of her dress and lifts it just an inch, revealing the tips of blue cowboy boots.

“Something blue,” she whispers.

I shake my head in disbelief. She’s perfect. “I love you.”

* * *

After the ceremony, Eleanor and I only have a moment to celebrate before the marathon of entertaining our guests.

We disappear into the tent, the flaps closing behind us. I pull her into my arms and kiss her the way I wish I could have at the end of the aisle, but it would have absolutely scandalized my mother. “Oh my god, you look amazing,” I say, scrunching my fingers through her hair.

She giggles. “You fogged up my glasses.”

You bet I did. I pull her glasses off and polish them off on my jacket before placing them back on her nose. “That’s better.”

“Hi, husband,” she says, now able to look up at me like I’ve hung the moon.

My heart’s flopping like a fish on a dock. “Hi, wife.”

She grins. “Ooh, that’s fun!”

We both laugh and find ourselves chatting excitedly about everything leading to the big moment, rather than tearing each other’s clothes off which was my original plan. I can’t help it though. I want to know everything.

Sooner than I’d like, we have to go out and greet our public. I make a note to get her alone later to show her just how beautiful she is to me.

We wade through our guests, flashing smiles, sharing conversations, and convincing them to go visit the main cabin to check out all the animals up for adoption. We ply them with enough champagne that some of those fur babies are definitely getting their forever homes tonight.

“God, I’m starving,” she says before swiping some canapes off a passing tray, giving the server a grateful smile. “I haven’t eaten all day.”

“Neither have I,” I reply.

She hip-checks me. “Were you nervous, Luke Wyatt?”

“Obviously.”

Eleanor sips her champagne, eyes rolling up, knowing how I exist always in the palm of her hand. “Mm! The truck!”

Everyone has worked on making our day as special as possible, including my mom, who had my dad’s old truck all tuned up to make the drive out here. It’s currently adorned with garlands of flowers and tin cans tied to the tires, with a sign hanging off the back that says “Eleanor and Luke’s Wedding.” It’s serving as a photo op for our guests to have a photo memento of our day.

My mother pops between us and squeezes us to her sides. “If you flip the sign around, it says ‘Just Married!’” she squeals.

“We’re not driving home in that, Mom,” I snort.

“Why not? It was your father’s!”

“Because look at her! She’s in a wedding dress.”

Eleanor scoffs. “So?” She sticks a foot out from under her dress. “I’m in my boots. I’m not too good for a pickup.”

My mom beams up at me. “I love her.”

Lots of friends from the music scene are here, so many friendly faces from my years of music promoting. I’ve scaled back on how much promotion work I’m taking on. I’ve got plans. Big plans. Ideas I never would have had if I hadn’t met Eleanor Hayes.

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