Page 205 of Banter & Blushes

The officiant says a few beautiful things but I barely hear them. All I can focus on is her hand in mine, and how I never want to let go.

We say our vows—hers written on a crumpled piece of notebook paper she had tucked into her bouquet, mine memorized and dangerously close to getting scrambled by the pounding of my heart.

She goes first, voice soft but steady.

“I promise to love you on the good days and the hard ones. To laugh at your terrible jokes. To make you coffee when you’re running late. And to always choose you—especially when you leave blueprints all over the kitchen table.”

There’s a wave of laughter. Aurora wipes her eyes. Matti claps like he thinks we’re done.

When it’s my turn, I take a breath and launch in.

“I promise to protect your heart like it’s my favorite thing—because it is. To make you laugh when you’re tired. To bring you takeout when you’ve had a twelve-hour shift. And to never, ever forget the day I fell hopelessly in love with you at the dolphin lagoon.”

She beams at me, eyes shining.

“I’ll be your safe place to land . . . your sweaty—” I pause, realizing the slip. “I mean—steadyhand.”

Laughter bursts around us. Even the officiant chuckles.

“Definitely sweaty,” Briella teases. “You nervous?”

“I am not nervous,” I whisper, even though my palms say otherwise.

She squeezes my hand gently. “It’s okay. I am.”

We exchange rings—simple gold bands filled with the promise of our future.

And then we kiss.

This time, everyone cheers.

Even Matti stands and yells, “Again!”

And I would. A thousand times over.

After the ceremony,with the last of the sun stretching across the waves and guests beginning to drift toward the reception bonfire, I pull Briella close.

She fits perfectly against me, her head resting on my chest like she was made to be here.

I reach into my pocket and pull out a small glass bottle. “Our turn,” I say, handing it to her.

She smiles and gently unrolls the note inside. Her voice is quiet when she reads it aloud.

“True love is worth the risk.”

She slips the message back into the bottle, presses the cork in place, and looks up at me with tear-bright eyes.

“It really is,” she says, then rises onto her toes and kisses me—slow, certain, and soft enough to make the whole world fall away.

“I love you, Mr. Bennett.”

“I love you, Mrs. Bennett.”

Hand in hand, we walk barefoot to the edge of the tide, waves lapping at our ankles, the breeze wrapping around us like a vow of its own.

And then, together, we toss the bottle into the sea.

Maybe someone will find it.

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