Page 154 of Lavender Lake
“Well, hurry up then,” Declan stated, causing everyone to laugh.
Hadley, still chuckling, turned and handed me her bouquet.
Then she faced her husband to be.
They didn’t write their own vows, choosing to go the traditional route. And while they recited their pledge of ‘til death do us part, I once again found myself staring at Cas.
His lips lifted up into a smile, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.
“You may now kiss the bride,” Minister Bainbridge said. “Again.”
Declan gently cradled Hadley’s face and pressed his lips to hers. He then stood back, grabbed her hand and raised their clasped hands in the air.
Everyone in the audience cheered.
I handed Hadley her bouquet, and then the two of them walked down the aisle.
“Now we feast,” Wyn said, drawing my attention to her and Poet.
Poet wiped a finger underneath her glasses. “That was so beautiful.”
“It really was,” I agreed. “Come on, waterworks. Let’s get you a glass of champagne.”
“Yeah, that’s all we need,” Wyn teased. “A weepy, sappy Poet.”
“Well, we are at a wedding. If not now, then when?” Poet demanded.
“May I escort you to the tent?” Cas asked, coming to stand by my side.
I smiled up at him. “Sure thing.”
He offered me his arm and I took it.
The tables under the tent were adorned with cream colored tablecloths and vintage, mismatching cutlery and china that Muddy and Hadley had found in antique stores over the past few months. Votives of candles tied with lavender ribbons and bouquets of wildflowers graced the center of each table.
There were no assigned seats except for the table that included the wedding party along with Muddy, Dad and Jane.
“This is beautiful,” Poet said. “The vision totally came together.”
Wyn nodded. “And at the moment, no scent of ranch life.”
“Just wait until the wind changes,” I quipped. “I don’t even smell it anymore.”
“Well, you’re used to it,” Wyn said.
“Can we not talk about the smell right before we eat?” Poet asked. “I’m begging you.”
Wyn mimed zipping her mouth shut.
“Can I get you ladies something to drink?” Cas asked.
“Glass of champagne for me,” Wyn said.
“Same,” Poet added.
Cas looked at me and raised his brows. “Will you help me carry the drinks?”
“Sure.” I nodded and moved toward the Copper Mule’s mobile bar—a vintage Airstream trailer with their logo on the side.
