Page 84 of The Risks of Reuniting

Holt's grin splits his handsome face. "Yes, yes, yes."

Mr. Snow and the guests all laugh. “Good. And so we come to the rings. The final ritual in a wedding ceremony is to make your commitment tangible – your rings are thephysicalrepresentation of the promises you have made to each other today. They symbolize the sanctity of your marriage and are a constant reminder of your love.May I have the rings please?"

Holt pulls them both out of his pocket and I clap my hands and bite at my lips. We picked out rings a little while ago, but couldn't wear them because this was a secret, and I've been so excited to have this claim resting on both of us. Holt's ring is a plain gold band, and mine is a simple solitaire with a circlet of diamonds around it. I knew it was the right one for me the moment I saw it, and it's as beautiful as I remember.

Holt gives them to Mr. Snow, and he holds them up for everyone to see as he says, "These rings are a circle of strength with no beginning or end, and with no point of weakness. May they be a constant reminder of the promises you have made today."

We exchange rings, my fingers shaking, and Holt laughing, and when Mr. Snow pronounces us "Mr. and Mrs. Holt and Chloe Alvarez" and tells us we can kiss, Holt dives for me without restraint. He wraps me firmly in his arms and doesn't care that everyone is watching as he presses his lips to mine repeatedly, until I'm a mess of emotions and the cheers of the crowd break through the bubble surrounding us.

We turn to face them, Holt with a smile so big it'll crack his cheeks and me with cheeks as red as my mom's poppies, and Holt pulls ourintertwined hands up into the air, letting out a cheer that has the birds flying from the trees. The photographer stands off to the side, documenting everything with his own smile on his face.

I've never been so happy in my life. I'd thought about marrying Holt a million times, but the picture had changed after our breakup, and now as I stand here watching my family and Allie take to their feet and cheer for joy, I realize that the old picture never had been the right one. This moment, this wedding, these two changed people – this was how it was supposed to happen all along.

THE END

Epilogue

Threeyearsandafew months later . . .

CHLOE

My dangling llama earrings tickle at the side of my neck as the moving truck bounces over yet another pothole. If I didn't know better I'd think Holt was hitting them on purpose. It's day three of our cross-country road trip and I swear it didn't take this long when we moved from Salt Lake to Chapel Hill. This moving van is slower, the freeway is busier, the miles of emptiness are longer, and I'm over it.

Being pregnant will do that to a person.

My hand rests over my rounded belly and I rub away an ache where the baby's bottom wants to live underneath my rib cage. My third trimester is really testing my desire to have multiple children.

Holt has one wrist flopped casually over the steering wheel, and the other arm is leaned against the window of the U-Haul van, propping up his head. He's humming along to the radio, his ball cap shading his dark eyes as he watches miles of nothing pass us by.

He hasn't asked me even once today if I want a donut, and I'm a little chapped about it.

"Is Allie all settled into her new place?" he asks when he notices me looking his way.

"Yep," I nod. "She was out yesterday. She sent me pictures of how clean the condo is."

I don't tell him about the banner that's hanging over the couch in the living room, or how everyone is going to meet us there for a surprise graduation party for him. It's a big deal, getting his PharmD degree. It's an even bigger deal that he was able to get a job back in Salt Lake City, where we still have my condo, and where our families can be involved with the baby.

It's been an amazing three years. We've solidified our relationship as a couple, faced some challenges, laughed and teased . . . and yet he still doesn't understand that this child growing within me needs a chocolate cake donut every morning or things don't feel right.

As a doctor, he should know these things.

I'm forced to sigh.

The sound has him leaning up and looking closer at me for a second before his eyes go back to the long stretch of highway. He's shaved his beard, and I watch as his jaw clenches for a moment.

"You feeling okay?" he asks in a concerned tone.

He's been freaking out a bit about me making this drive at thirty-two weeks pregnant. I was more freaked out about making the drive with a newborn and told him it had to happen ASAP after his graduation date. I want to be settled into the condo before the baby comes, not doing all of this while figuring out parenthood, and new jobs, and balancing family demands again.

In fact, I'm kind of happy that I haven't found a new hygienist position yet. With the baby coming soon we decided I'd start my own maternity leave now and look for a job when he's a few months old.

Yeah,he. We're so excited.

I've already planned how I'll turn the second bedroom of the condo into a nursery, and how I'll take him on walks around the community, and how I'll put the rocking chair under the window so I can see the stars during the middle of the night feedings.

"I'm fine," I reply in a way that says the opposite is true.

He straightens a little, looking closer while trying to keep the huge moving truck aimed straight. "What is it, baby? Are you having Braxton Hicks contractions? Is your sciatica acting up? Do we need to stop and move a little?"

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