Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77120 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77120 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
He turns to look at me now, really look at me.
“And you’re the reason I still have it. You didn’t just save my life that night, Henry. You gave me the chance to start over. You gave her the chance to live. That’s not something I’ll ever be able to repay.”
My throat tightens, but I stay quiet.
“I know what it cost you,” he says. “What it’s still costing you.”
I clench my jaw, because yeah, the aftermath of what I did doesn’t just disappear. Not in the mirror. Not when I close my eyes.
Jason sets the glass down. “But let me say this. What you did wasn’t just brave. It was honorable. You didn’t just protect us. You reminded me what love looks like when it’s messy and hard and terrifying.” He pauses, breath steady. “You think you’re lost, Henry. But I see exactly who you are. And I trust that man with my life.”
That’s it. That’s the moment.
Something in me loosens, just a little. Enough to take a breath that feels almost clean.
Jason doesn’t need to thank me. And I don’t need to fall apart. We sit there a bit longer in the silence, two men who’ve both come through fire, still standing, still trying.
And for the first time in a long time, I start to believe I can come back too.
Thirty-Seven
Tabitha
“Tell me I’m wrong,” Stephen says. “Tell me you haven’t been with someone else.”
I clear my throat. “You’re wrong.”
He raises an eyebrow. “And you’re not being truthful.”
He’s right. I’m not. And I hate lying. I hate it with a purple passion.
God, am I the worst wedding date ever?
I owe Stephen a huge apology, but before I open my mouth, Henry and Sage escort Angie and Jason to the five-tiered wedding cake, baked by Angie’s mom and her cousin Ava, a baker.
I’ve heard that Marjorie Simpson’s cakes are legendary, and though I haven’t tasted it yet, it looks magnificent. I almost feel sorry for Stephen. All that sugar and dairy and so little time…
I got a good look at the cake when I came in. It’s magnificent, frosted in a smooth ivory buttercream with a velvet finish that seems to glow. Delicate gold leaf veining climbs the sides in swirling, asymmetrical patterns, and tiny sugar pearls are embedded into the designs—so subtle you’d miss them if you weren’t standing close enough to inhale the scent of vanilla.
Each tier is adorned with breathtaking edible florals in shades of periwinkle, cream, and deep plum. Clusters of them cascade down one side like a wild bouquet, winding through satin ribbons of fondant so fine they mimic silk.
It looks almost ethereal, like it belongs in a dream or a storybook, not real life.
But it is real. And it’s legendary. Just like I was told.
Photographers snap their cameras as Angie and Jason cut the cake and feed each other. Already I know they won’t shove it in each other’s faces like some couples do. That’s not Angie and Jason.
The servers then take over, cutting the cake and plating it. More servers come around and offer us coffee or more champagne.
I take the champagne.
I think I’ve drunk more during the last two days than I have in the last six months.
But it’s an event, to be sure.
When a dessert plate with a piece of cake appears in front of me, I grab my dessert fork and take a bite.
It’s only after I get my head out of the cake cloud that I notice Stephen declined a piece.
Shocker.
Still chewing, I swallow and turn to him.
“Don’t tell me. It’s not organic?”
He exhales through his nose and shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. Refined sugar, organic or otherwise, throws off my energy, makes my thoughts cloudy and my gut uneasy. And white flour feels like paste in my system. A bite of cake might taste good in the moment, but it’s more than I’m willing to pay.”
White flour? I’m pretty sure I saw him eat a slice of bread. Does he realize he’s being a hypocrite?
I resist rolling my eyes. “You’re missing out. I’m happy to clog things up for this deliciousness.”
We say nothing more as I finish my cake and champagne.
The band—Dragonlock again—is warming up, and a moment later, Jesse Pike takes the microphone.
“Hey, everyone,” he says. “As most of you know, we are Dragonlock. Let’s get Angie and Jason up here for their first dance.”
Wild applause as Angie and Jason take center stage on the portable dance floor.
Jesse and Rory begin a cappella, a song I don’t know. Must be an original composition of theirs.
The words are beautiful for a first dance.
“I was drifting, wild and restless
Waves crashing through my soul
Then you reached into the chaos
And suddenly I was whole.”
Then the band joins in, first a soft cymbal, and then a guitar, and then the keyboard.
“You didn’t calm the thunder