Page 140 of Her Goal
Our eyes lock and nothing more needs to be said. I know this is the woman I’ll be devoted to for the rest of my life. As we say our vows, affirming these promises, her smile grows. My heart swells. When our lips meet for the kiss to celebrate and seal our nuptials, I vaguely hear the crowd erupt in cheers, but she has my full attention. She always will.
We ride together in a limo—just the two of us to Stowells Street—probably the only moments we’ll get until the wee hours when the party disperses.
I say, “Thanks for writing a strongly worded letter to my brother.”
“I have a knack for those. Figured I’d put it to good use for once. But I didn’t hear back from him for a while, so I wasn’t sure he’d follow through …”
“It was quite the surprise.”
“No doubt he reached out to your mother. Who’s the new hubby?”
“My father.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Wow. That was fast. I don’t recall you ever adopting her previous boyfriends as dad.”
“No, I mean he’s my biological father.”
Leah’s mouth lowers. “Whoa.”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe it’s a good thing we’re postponing our honeymoon until after the season. You have some catching up to do.”
I draw her to my side. “But you’re coming with me to all those games. We’ll call them mini-moons.”
She bites her lip. “If I can get the time off.”
“Leah, I’ll make sure Stan has staff on hand to help. You’re coming with me.”
“Twist my arm, why don’t you?” She laughs.
“I figured you wouldn’t mind. Any more surprises I should know about?”
She taps her chin. “One more.”
“Are you going to tell me what it is or will I have to tickle it out of you?”
“I’m not ticklish.”
“Is that so?” I wiggle my fingers.
She’s already giggling.
My tickles turn into tingles and just before our lips meet and I close my eyes, I catch a glimpse of something ceramic in the bag by her feet, but I’m too far gone in my desire to kiss her to worry about why Howie is at our wedding.
When we get to the reception, the fiesta is already in full swing.
I’ve been to numerous receptions and typically flowers feature prominently that coordinate with the color scheme applied to linens and other practical decorations. However, the Smiths went wild with wreaths, lanterns, pumpkins and hay bales, foliage and flowers, and harvest displays including a massive cornucopia. There’s a photo booth, a bonfire, and little nooks with tables set out with food. It’s a very classy version of the carnival, complete with a few games for the kids like donuts on strings, pumpkin painting, and a cookie decorating station. Everywhere I turn, there’s something to feast my eyes upon, but my gaze hardly strays from my beautiful bride.
My mother is on the dancefloor with my father, who congratulated us earlier, but otherwise, seems to be a man of few words. Hunter and Dara, who holds the baby, sway from side to side.
I comment, “My mother is still a loose cannon.”
“Or a spicy grandma.”
“Wait until she meets Abuela.”
Hand in hand, we make our debut to a round of cheers. The next hours blur. There are drinks poured, toasts made, dances danced, and a meal sort of eaten as the Smith-Torres family flies high with music, activity, and food that I don’t think was on Margo’s wedding day menu. The members of Leah’s family never turn up to an event empty-handed.
