Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 69860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
“You could have been more convincingly disgusted.”
She giggled a little bit.
“It won’t happen again. And if it does, I will be thoroughly disgusted.”
I sighed and pulled her against me.
“I love you, wife.”
“I love you too, husband,” she whispered back.
And then I kissed her. Our first kiss as man and wife. Our first but not our last.
I’d be kissing this woman for the rest of my days, I realized. Could Nick and the guys say that? Hell, no, they couldn’t.
I was grinning as I lifted my bride and carried her across the street to the garden.
Janet and the girls had come all the way to Portland to help Clarice. They’d brought dozens of string lights, with Jack, Hunter, and Whiskey using their long arms to hang them. There were real candles and battery LED candles and live music and a buffet.
There was also a keg and boxed wine, but other than that, it was fancy as all get out. And it was open to everyone.
I smiled as friends surrounded us. The married guys whose brides I’d kissed came over to sass me and slap my back. The brides regaled my wife with stories of other weddings, especially the time Mac pushed me into the lake.
Thankfully, my wife wasn’t too shocked by any of it.
She gave me a few incredulous looks, but mostly, she laughed. We both did. And when her eyelids started to droop, it was time to sneak away. I carried her into the upstairs bedroom at the parsonage. I’d finally agreed to use Paul’s bedroom. We’d redone the room with new bedding and a fresh mattress for my pregnant wife to sleep on.
My bride looked so beautiful as I lay her gently on the bed. She was also asleep. We were leaving in the morning for our honeymoon, which was nothing fancy, but she needed her rest.
I spent my wedding night watching my bride sleep. I didn’t mind, though. I had plans to make.
Plans for our future.
And plans of what new things we could try in bed.
I was hard the whole damn night. Hard and unsatisfied, but smiling.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Cynthia
I am a barefoot bride, I thought with a smile.
I stared out over the waves, which had been so wild the night before. Today, this evening at sunset, they were serene. The glossy arches of water reflected the orange and purple tones of the sky. The air was crisp and clean, not hot and muggy, as I’d expected.
And the shack behind me was . . . well, it was perfect. Apparently, it had been a disaster just a few shorts weeks ago. But somehow, with the help of Paul and a whole boat’s worth of fishermen, they had gotten it into shape. Where the walls had been simple boards with exposed pipes and wires, there was plaster and a full bathroom. Where the kitchen had been a hotplate and a faucet over a bucket, there was a cute little kitchenette. The floor was insulated, and so were the walls and roof.
There was even a ceiling fan at the pinnacle of the ceiling, even though Preacher had refused air conditioning. But with this refreshing breeze, I decided he had made the right decision. I also decided that we were never, ever coming here in August.
A small semicircle of people sat on the sand behind me as I walked forward to meet Preacher and Paul. We were having a second ceremony. And somehow, this seemed even more special. Quiet.
And so uniquely him.
My groom stood there, looking handsome in cotton pants and a shirt. My dress was something we’d grabbed in the village. It was simple white cotton, probably made for tourists with its off the shoulder elastic and maxi length. But the fabric was clean and soft and the embroidery was pretty.
And it felt right.
“Thank you all for being here,” he said in English and then repeated his words in Spanish. “Two of the most important people in my life are getting married, are married, and I just had to be a part of it. Bless you both for humoring an old man’s wishes.”
“Who are you calling old?” Preacher growled.
“Myself, of course.”
“We are the same age, you jackal.”
Reverend Paul cackled and shook his head.
“Preacher, as you all know, is one of a kind. He has given me more than a few white hairs over the many, many years we have known each other. He is not ever what people expect, and I love him for it. I consider him my brother and the best man I know.”
I giggled at the way he was teasing Preacher. He might bristle and moan, but he was smiling through it all. It was illuminating to see them together this way.
There was a lot of love here. That much was certain.
“Now, Cynthia.” He looked at me and took my hand. “You have been more important to me than you could ever know. I mean that. When you and mother first came to the church, I saw your earnest little face and knew that you were special. The way you devoted yourself to the church only proved it time and time again. You . . .” He squeezed my hand as his eyes teared up. “You’ve been like a daughter to me. I love you very, very much.”