And there’s that feeling again, that warmth radiating out from my chest that can only mean one thing. Even with its ups and downs, fights and all, I’m finally home at long last.
25
* * *
LOGAN
Nothing prepares you for how you’ll feel on your wedding day. In fact, I don’t even think feelings were mentioned in our ultra-fast wedding-planning process.
We practiced our dance moves until we wore down the carpet in the living room, and I must have rehearsed saying “I, Logan, take you, Summer” in the mirror a dozen times, paranoid that I’d somehow manage to mess up that small phrase. But there’s nothing I could have done to predict the feeling in my gut as I stand here at the front of our barn-turned-brewery-turned-wedding venue, waiting for my bride to walk down that aisle.
God, if I could bottle this feeling, it would fly off the shelves.
I can only describe it as the best rush of adrenaline I’ve ever felt, mixed with a strange inner calm. No pre-wedding jitters or second thoughts. I’ve never felt more certain that this is where I belong—ready and waiting for a lifetime with Summer by my side.
I scan the wooden benches filled with familiar faces, soaking in all the love they’re sending my way. We kept things small—a smattering of Tates; Summer’s mentor, Les; and the minister. Just enough folks for it to feel like a special occasion without any extra faces I don’t recognize.
My side is full of dark-haired, blue-eyed folks in their Sunday best, looking like they stepped out of a Kohls catalogue instead of the usual Mountain Living.
Summer’s side, however, is a little sparse. Les and his wife sit quietly at the end of the second row, and I’m suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude for the man. I barely know him, but it means a lot to Summer that they came all this way. After losing her mom in that senseless accident, she has no family. We’ve talked about it before, but seeing it with my own eyes has my stomach in knots.
But it won’t be that way for much longer. A few I do’s from now, she’ll officially be a Tate, and she’ll have more family than she’ll know what to do with. The thought has me grinning like a damn fool.
“Shh!”
It’s almost time, but a snicker from behind me breaks my concentration. I turn to see Austen and Matt, each of them sporting a proud grin.
I follow Austen’s smile toward the top of the Christmas tree behind us. Somehow, these idiots managed to swap out the star with our bride and groom wedding cake topper. It’s lopsided and dumb, and somehow also fucking delightful—so very much like my family.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot my cousin pick up Matt’s guitar to quietly tune it, and my distracted thoughts settle as the soft music begins, signaling the entrance of the bride. My stomach constricts with eager anticipation.
Here comes the love of my life.
When the barn doors open, my entire body lights up like a bonfire. There she is. Summer, an absolute vision in white. With a long lace skirt floating around her and a plunging neckline that has my head swimming, perfect is an understatement for the woman before me. My bride. My wife. She knocks the wind out of me more than any puck ever has.
Grandpa Al is looking pretty dapper himself in a modest tweed suit and tie, albeit a little wobbly as he walks her down the aisle. It’s less of a giving away of the bride in this case, and more of a welcoming home. When Summer places her long, elegant fingers in mine, I want to freeze time and hang on to this moment forever.
“Hi,” she whispers soft enough so only I can hear. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” I whisper back.
I could say it a thousand more times, shout it for everyone to hear for hours on end. But instead, I say the only thing that’s more powerful than I love you.
I say, “I do.”
And when the minister says, “man and wife,” Summer Tate becomes my family. My forever.
The reception passes by in a blur of well wishes and teary-eyed smiles. Though I somehow manage to hug everyone and thank them for coming, I can’t think about anything other than Summer’s hand in mine. Her wedding ring is cool against my fingers, and with every touch of her palm to mine, pride swells in my chest.
This woman is my wife. My wife. How I managed to pull that off, I’ll never know. I’ve certainly changed a lot from the grumpy bastard she first met.
I can’t tell you a single thing any of my brothers said in their speeches. But Summer occasionally giggles and wipes away tears with the corner of her napkin during the speeches.
“Congratulations, man,” Graham grunts, smacking a hard hand against my shoulder. He nods to the bar. “Can I get you another beer?”
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
Graham grumbles something about the nutty tones in the latest batch overpowering the other flavors, but I tune him out in favor of gazing across the candlelit tabletops at my wife. She’s laughing with my mother, probably swapping embarrassing stories about me.
It doesn’t take long for her to catch me staring. With a sly smile, she nods her head toward the door leading into the stables and gives me what I can only call bedroom eyes.
How can I resist that invitation?
“Figures,” Graham mumbles, snapping me back to our conversation “You two couldn’t even last an hour.”
“What are you talking about?”
He levels me with a hard look. “Tell me you aren’t about to sneak off together.”
Shit. I guess my staring was a bit more obvious than I thought. “Uh . . .”
Before I can think of anything to say, Graham shakes his head almost mournfully and pulls a twenty-dollar bill out of his wallet. Matt appears seemingly out of nowhere, plucking his winnings from Graham’s hand.
Leave it to these morons to place bets on my wedding night.
“Gross,” Matt says, but the grin on his face is downright gleeful.
I roll my eyes and abandon my brothers to join Summer in the stables.
“Did anyone see you?” she asks between giggling kisses.
“Most definitely.” I sigh, dragging my lips across her neck to the delicate column of her throat. God, she smells like pine and promise. “But I don’t give a damn.”
“Me either,” she whispers, nipping at my ear and sending electricity surging through every inch of my veins.
It’s almost enough for me to forget that we’re in a freaking stable and about a hundred yards from all my family members. But I don’t care. I could be anywhere with Summer, and I’d be the happiest man on the face of the earth.
And who knows, maybe this is our thing? We once got busy up against a chicken coop. At least the stables are vacant—we’re not horse people.
But her lips on my neck distract me from those thoughts. My fingers work under her silky dress, venturing up her mile-long legs. There’s a lot of dress, but I finally manage.
A few quick steps to the right, and I’ve got her pinned against the wooden wall, pressed against me like a second skin. Who cares if we disappear for twenty minutes? Who cares if we come back covered in hay? All I give a damn about is her skin on mine.
I’ve never loved formalwear more than when Summer unzips me without a single snag. She pulls me out of my pants in all of three seconds, sending a shock wave of pleasure coursing through my veins. Why the hell do I wear jeans all the time when a quickie could be this easy?