Page 20 of Marrying the Accidental Groom
She watched the flicker of flames dance in Kaitlyn’s hair as she leaned in to listen to Stetson retell his death-defying woodpile leap. Zeke loosened up fully and threw his head back, laughing. Cassie tried to wrangle a squirming toddler with one hand while holding a conversation with Jason. There were grass stains on Chance’s knees and a popsicle streak drying on Juniper’s cheek. And no one seemed in a hurry to fix any of it.
Juliana sat still, hands folded tightly in her lap.
This wasn’t the kind of evening she’d grown up with. At her house, noise was controlled, and messes were contained. Napkins were linen, schedules were sacred, and joy was something you earned with good behavior and neat handwriting. Her mother didn’t believe in s’mores—“sugar and ash,” she’d once called them. And bonfires were dangerous liabilities, not places to gather and laugh. Fun had to be orderly. Contained. Quiet.
This was none of those things.
There was freedom in it. The permission to be imperfect and noisy and sticky and alive.
She glanced at Gideon from the corner of her eye. He was leaning back against the back of the bench, legs stretched out in front of him, completely at ease. Unlike her, he clearly belonged in the middle of this chaos. Although, he’d had the same air of confidence and ease when he’d been lounging on a bed of pineapples. So maybe it wasn’t the setting so much as it was the man.
He caught her glance and offered a crooked smile. Not smug. Not teasing. Just warm. Like he saw her watching and understood.
Maybe that was what disarmed her the most. Not the s’mores or the sticky fingers or even the wild, barefoot children. But the fact that she was starting to feel safe in it.
She looked back at the fire and took a careful bite of her s’more. A chaotic bonfire wasn’t on the itinerary. But as a string of melted marshmallow trailed from her fingers, she couldn’t bring herself to mind too much.
8
GIDEON
Gideon perched sideways on a stool, his socked foot resting on the chair rung, spinning a spoon between his fingers as Zeke stirred something on the stove. He’d come to Zeke’s this morning for a reason—maybe he’d been hoping the familiar warmth of Zeke’s kitchen could steady the swirl of questions in his mind. But now, he’d rather talk about anything else but his unorthodox marriage.
“Alright,” Gideon said, nudging a banana across the table like it had personally offended him, “hear me out: tandem paragliding tours.”
Zeke didn’t look up. “No.”
Gideon rolled his eyes. “You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”
“You just did. Paragliders. Guests strapped to you, floating off the ridge. It’s a terrible idea, bro.”
“Not terrible,” Gideon said, pointing his spoon for emphasis. “Adventurous. Scenic. Completely safe...assuming proper wind conditions and thorough safety briefings.”
Zeke finally turned, spatula in hand. “You’re deflecting.”
“I’m brainstorming,” Gideon countered. “Taking an active role in the business or whatever.”
“You’re avoiding.”
“Technically, I’m also fasting.” He shoved the banana back and forth like a hockey puck. “Too nauseous to eat, thanks to a very unexpected visitor.”
Zeke just raised a brow and turned back to the stove.
Gideon sighed, resting his elbows on the table. “I didn’t mean to marry her, Zeke. It was supposed to be a ceremonial island thing. Lei around the neck, take a picture, kiss. Boom. Done.”
“Except you actually said the vows,” Zeke said.
“Except I actually said the vows,” Gideon echoed. “And signed some documents I didn’t read because they were printed on parchment and came with a shell necklace.”
“For crying out loud, Gideon. Seriously?”
“And now apparently I’m married,” Gideon muttered. “To Juliana Emerson. A woman who matches her pencil to her ponytail holder.”
Zeke slid a plate of eggs and toast across the table to him. “And,” he added, “you’re a third owner in Redemption Ridge now.”
Gideon groaned. “Ugh, don’t remind me. Dad’s either popping Tums like they’re candy to deal with the indigestion or throwing a party that I finally got married and triggered that stupid inheritance clause.” He looked down at the breakfast and his stomach churned. "It still feels like it’s not mine to claim.” He stabbed halfheartedly at the eggs. Ownership. Responsibility. Shudder.
He wasn’t ready for that. He’d always been the jokester. He was the guy guiding tourists up mountain trails, not the one making decisions that affected acres of land or this big family legacy. Sometimes, he wondered if his dad even saw him as areal contributor, or just the free spirit who couldn’t be counted on like Cassie or Zeke.
