Page 74 of Strawberry Kisses

Epilogue

2 Years Later

Patrick

A soft summer breeze caressed my skin as I walked hand-in-hand with my new husband across the yard of my parents’ farm.

The field next to the barn was filled with people drinking, laughing, chatting, and playing with the lawn games we’d set up, including a ridiculously large game of Jenga, while children ran and played around them, turning cartwheels on the soft grass. I smiled and squeezed Connor’s hand, suddenly struck by déjà vu, remembering this scene from two years earlier when we’d been friends pretending to be more, and I’d been desperately wishing it was real.

So much had changed since then, and yet really only one thing had. Connor and I had made the leap from friends to boyfriends, then from boyfriends to fiancés, and now to husbands. I liked that word: husband. It made everything feel so solid and real, like the shimmering platinum band on my finger was proof of how far we’d come from that nervous weekend.

“Where do you want to start?” asked Connor, looking up and grinning, his perfectly highlighted cheekbones shimmering in the summer sun. We’d spent the last hour taking photos across the farm, making use of the beautiful landscape and the sunshine, and I almost wished I could keep Connor to myself for just a few more minutes before we had to make the rounds and greet our guests. Although I’d get him back later for food and dancing, and tonight when we locked ourselves in the gorgeous bedroom of the cottage we were staying in. Mum and Da, with Mary’s help and encouragement, had made one of the little cottages into a wedding suite for couples who held their receptions on the farm. I’d been a little hesitant to stay there, but the cottage had been too beautiful to resist. Our own little slice of secluded paradise for the night. Plus, it had an enormous bed and a hot tub, and I really wasn’t going to turn that down. I got the feeling I’d be exhausted by the end of the night and not just at the hands of my husband. Dealing with two hundred people was hard, especially when they were my family.

“Divide and conquer?” I suggested. “Or do you want to stay together for protection? I’m slightly scared several of my elderly aunts will try and give me advice about my wedding night and sigh over how flexible you are. Even though at least one of them has told me over the past two years to enjoy ‘my handsome man as often as possible’ so I’m not sure what they think will be happening tonight. Unless they’re going to give me instructions on working the hot tub. Did you see how many buttons that thing has?”

Connor laughed, the sound like music to my ears. “Oh my God, I’d forgotten your aunts. Don’t worry. I’ll fend them off. Should I just tell them I popped your cherry years ago or should I just distract them with my booty?”

“Careful, or you’ll end up hearing stories about that man they dated in the seventies who could do that thing with his tongue.” I shuddered. Thanks, Aunt Betty, for that visual.

“Oh, you never know, I might enjoy that!”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” I stopped walking and pulled Connor into me, kissing him gently. I wondered if anyone would notice if we disappeared into the garden for half an hour just so I could keep my husband to myself for a little longer.

“Come on,” he said, squeezing my hand. “I’m getting hungry, and I see the caterers have started with the canapes. I want at least three cones of mini fish and chips since we’re paying for them.”

“You know if you ask nicely, I’m sure they’d bring you a little tray of them to carry around for yourself.”

“Oh my God, yes! That’s the best idea.” Connor grinned at me, practically bouncing on the spot. “You have the most wonderful ideas, babe. Come on. I’ll ask that gentlemen near Mary. I’m sure he can procure what I want.”

I laughed and let Connor tow me across the yard in search of mini fish and chip cones.

We ended up splitting up to cover more ground, and although it was nice to chat with everyone, I was glad when we were whisked away by the photographer for some group shots and then a few more on our own while the guests were seated.

“You two doing okay?” Mary asked, giving me a once-over as we waited. Technically she wasn’t supposed to be working this event, and everything was in the capable hands of her assistant, Dylan, but Mary didn’t know how to switch off. Ever since she’d had the idea to do wedding receptions at the barn, she’d thrown herself into making it work. Mary had taken all her organisational skills and her local knowledge and produced something spectacular. She’d dragged Aaron and I down one weekend to inspect the plans for the kitchen she was having installed for the caterers in a small building behind the barn that had mostly been used for spare tack and storage. From there she’d found preferred local caterers, florists, decorators, bands, and everything and anything else a couple might need. She’d also looked at the cottage plans and worked out how to turn the entire farm into a package for both accommodations and the reception.

After a couple of guinea pig events, the barn had held its first wedding nine months after she’d first suggested the idea, and it had been a wild success. Even though it had only been a little over a year since then, they were already three-quarters booked up for the next year, and they’d started getting some great recognition, even being nominated for a couple of local wedding awards.

When Connor and I had started planning, his first suggestion had been that we hold the reception here. “It’s special to us,” he’d said. “In more ways than one. And I can’t think of anywhere more perfect.” So that had been that. Mum had been thrilled when we’d told her, and I think she’d nearly driven Mary up the wall trying to be helpful. I was glad we’d had the pair of them, plus Connor’s mum, to help out because our lives were ridiculously busy, and it wasn’t as if we could just pop to Devon every weekend.

The Pear Tree was doing extremely well. Aaron had gotten his wish for awards, and as a result we were busier than ever. Luckily, Ben had conceded that we needed more staff, and we now had two additional pastry chefs, meaning there were always two of us on a service. It was a bit of a squish in the kitchen, but it meant that I felt less like a headless chicken, so I was happy to deal with it. Aaron had quietly whispered to me that his next goal was a Michelin star, and we’d started having meetings about how we could refine the menus. It was tricky because we didn’t want to alienate some of our customers by refining the food too much, but we also wanted to make sure everything sung. I was enjoying the challenge, and more than once Connor had been forced to come and dig me out of the pastry kitchen because I was busy experimenting. Not that he usually minded because he always ended up being fed whatever I was working on. It had become this odd little routine and ritual that we’d settled into—talking about our days over random bits of puddings at midnight on Tuesdays, long after the dinner service had finished.

Connor’s days were getting longer too. The studio was flourishing, and his pole career was taking off. He may not have gotten into the East Midlands Championships or Chrome Stars that first year we were together, but the year after he’d taken them by storm with a sensuous routine that combined ballet and pole with his signature sexy style. He’d spent months perfecting it until his body was bruised and sore and his feet were battered. I’d been a little concerned, but he’d told me it would be worth it when I saw the finished routine. I’d been sceptical, but then I’d seen him perform. It had been incredible, and had left both myself and the rest of the audience utterly speechless. He’d been the runaway winner at both competitions, and it had put him on the map as both a performer and a teacher. These days, he focused on teaching ballet and pole as well as workshops that combined both. He’d even been invited to teach a four-day workshop in Greece earlier this year, and they’d already asked him to come back in the autumn. I was so proud of him that it permanently felt like my heart was going to burst out of my chest.

“I’m starving,” Connor said from beside me. “But yes, apart from that I’m having the most wonderful day.”

“I thought you ate four cones of fish and chips?” I asked with a grin.

“They don’t count, babe. They were just a snack. Besides, that was like an hour ago.” Connor looked up at me, a cheeky grin on his perfect, pink mouth. His lipstick hadn’t moved an inch, which I knew he’d be pleased about. He’d conducted very thorough testing over the past six months to find the perfect one, attempting to find one that wouldn’t move after food, drink, and very thorough kissing. I hadn’t minded being subjected to his experimentation, especially the kissing part, because nine times out of ten it had escalated into something more. Connor had been determined to make sure the testing was rigorous.

“Don’t worry. Five more minutes and they’ll feed you,” Mary teased. “Then we just have to keep you away from the cake.”

“Oh God, I’d forgotten about the cake. Does it look pretty? I’ve still not seen it.”

“It’s gorgeous. You’ll love it,” Mary assured him. The cake came courtesy of our cousin Lou, who’d happily become one of Mary’s preferred cake suppliers and had been more than happy to make ours. She and Connor had several very long and in-depth phone discussions about flavours, and I’d been happy to leave them to it. I knew it would be amazing.

And it was.

I didn’t get a chance to have a look at it properly until after the meal and the speeches, when people were wandering around, getting drinks and waiting for the ceilidh to begin. It was three tiers, each one a different flavour, lightly smeared with buttercream icing so although it was covered, you could still see hints of the cake underneath. Semi-naked, Lou had called it. It was decorated with little meringue kisses with colours swirling through them, creating a rainbow effect around the cake, and little piles of strawberries. It was completely and utterly perfect.

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