Page 17 of Can't Get Over You
Still, she kept marching forward. She’d hear him out. He’d have a logical explanation—even if she couldn’t think of one herself.
Except… That was his handwriting.
No doubt about it.
But it was confusing because, as Matt watched her approach, he radiated pure happiness. He lowered his face into a hand and used two fingers to wipe away the tears.
He loves me.
He wants a life with me.
Her gut knew it.
So what’s going on?
A rustling sound caught her attention. She glanced over to see a mother struggling to keep her antsy child seated. As she slowly moved by, Finlay registered that the girl was trying to peel off her tights while the mom fought to keep them on.
As a kindergarten teacher, she was used to kids acting out. They often resisted wearing coats, shoes…anything that felt restrictive. She didn’t fuss over it.
Finally, she reached the altar. Her dad kissed her cheek and took his seat. Finlay handed her bouquet to Willa.
This is it.
No turning back.
The butterflies in her tummy turned to swooping bats. She pressed a hand to her stomach. But nothing felt right.
Everything was off.
The dress she’d loved and tried on a dozen times felt itchy. Her skin was damp. Hot. One of the bobby pins dug into her scalp just behind her ear.
“Good evening, everyone,” the pastor began.
But as he continued, Finlay could only hear a muffled murmur, as if the ceremony took place underwater. She was sweating now, and she thought she might pass out. The pastor kept talking, the congregants laughed every now and then, and her groom couldn’t keep the grin off his face.
Finally, Matt said his vows. He slid a ring onto her finger.
The gold was shockingly cold.
Only when he said, “I thee wed,” did the fog clear. Because it was her turn.
Unfortunately, her mind was preoccupied with balloons.
Love, Daddy.
Again, it was unquestionably Matt’s handwriting. He hadn’t written the card as a favor for a friend. He wasn’t helping a sibling.
No.
“And now, Finlay, you may say your vows,” the pastor said.
Instead, she turned to the congregation. “Is there a Chloe here?”
Strangely, her gaze landed unerringly on the little girl who’d won the battle over her tights. The one who stood on the padded pew and shouted, “I Cwowie.”
Finlay’s gaze shifted to the mother. She sucked in a harsh breath. “Your ex is here?” she asked Matt.
He jerked around. When he spotted the woman and her child, he let out a deep exhalation. His shoulders slumped.
