Probably.
Unless he’s getting ribbed by his buddies about me being out here when we’ve told everyone that we’re in a committed relationship without the mess of formalities that are completely unnecessary for both of us. I know he’s not actually fretting that I’d catch the bouquet, nor is he fretting that I’d suddenly want a wedding if I did.
Everyone above me moves in a giant human wave, and I duck walk backwards as everyone’s leaping up to reach for the flying bouquet. I turn to glide into the open spaces between the women—as much as I can, anyway, with everyone bumping around me—and that’s the only explanation I have for not seeing what’s coming.
Specifically, Marisol’s giant bouquet.
It crashes down on my head, throwing me just off-balance enough that I end up tumbling forward on the concrete and I’m very, very grateful that this was a barefoot wedding, because I don’t want to know what would happen if everyone around me was in stilettos.
“It’s mine!” someone yells.
“No, I got it!”
“MINE!”
“ALL ME!”
I’m buried under thirty-four bodies. I’m the tight end tackled by the entire opposing team at the goal line. I’m the base of the cheerleader pyramid that fell apart.
And I’m squishing the bouquet.
The pressure on my body relaxes as, I assume, people are pulling the other women off the pile of bouquet wanna-be owners, until a familiar chuckle hits my ears and familiar hands grip me under the armpits and lift.
Luca’s face is contorting into eighty-nine different emotions, ranging from worry to horror to absolute, utter hilarity.
His green eyes sweep up and down, then catch on the ground as he asks, “You okay?”
“Yeah. Think so,” I pant. I suck in a full breath, verify nothing’s broken, and I nod as I glance down at what he’s staring at.
It’s Marisol’s bouquet.
I crushed the ever-loving duck out of Marisol’s bouquet.
“Oh,” someone murmurs to my right.
“I don’t think I want that now,” someone else murmurs to my left.
“Is it cursed?”
“She’s wearing it. She has to keep it.”
Luca’s shoulders are shaking, and while his head is ducked, he’s taller than me, which makes it easy for me to bend over and stare him in the face. “Are you laughing?”
“No.”
“I can see you laughing.”
“But I’m trying very hard not to.”
We both look at my dress, which is smeared with tropical bouquet flower guts.
I pinch my lips together, which makes my laugh come out my nose, which is not attractive.
Luca’s managing to not snort, but I know that won’t last much longer.
“Oh my god, Henri! Are you okay? Who made you get out there? Who did this to my friend?” Marisol stomps a foot and turns to glare at all of her friends and family, who all back up.
She snorts as she bends to grab the bouquet.
Everyone who wanted it so badly just a moment ago takes another step back.
“I’ll keep it,” I tell Marisol.
“We will,” Luca agrees. He coughs, snickers, and tries to school his features into something of a neutral smile, and fails miserably. “We’re the keepers of relics of weddings gone wrong.”
I giggle.
Luca visibly stifles another laugh.
Marisol hesitates, then hands me the trampled bouquet with a shrug and a laugh. “Only you two could appreciate this.”
Luca folds me into his arms and buries his face in my neck. It tickles as he laughs. “My life was so boring before I met you.”
“I know. You’re welcome.”
He laughs again, and we spend the rest of the reception cracking up every time we look at each other.
This man.
He gets me. I love him more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life.
He is my heart.
And I’ll never let go.
Bonus Epilogue
Luca Rossi, aka a guy who almost forgot to tell you this part of the story, which happened a few months before Emilio and Marisol’s wedding
Exactly one week after we’re knocked out of the playoffs, six days after I finally found my Henri and convinced her to come home with me forever, we’re all back at Duggan Field.
It’s the day.
The day.
The only day that matters in the rest of this baseball season.
Mascot Day.
My teammates and I are all in uniform, and our families are with us on the field. Considering everything Mackenzie and the Lady Fireballs have done to support the team and the city, of course they’re invited.
Everyone’s families were added because we are family.
All of us.
I don’t know if my father will be in the stands—probably not, since we lost in the playoffs—but Henri and my mom and Nonna are by my side, and that’s what matters.
Jerry’s here too, which is its own kind of weird, but other than him stammering when I asked what his intentions were toward my mother, and then me growling at him when he got within touching distance of Henri, who’s taking this way better than I am, it’s not bad.
It’s weird, for sure, but Mom’s acting like a teenager, which is moderately adorable, so I can handle this.
Also, it’s the first time in almost a week that I’ve gone more than two hours without hearing babies or toddlers or preschoolers who need something, and while my respect for mothers has gone up a thousand-fold, it’s nice to have a small break from Elsa and her family.
It’s possible Henri’s sister is growing on me now that she’s letting her guard down to show her less-than-perfect side.
It’s possible she’s growing on Henri too, though Henri’s so patient with everyone, you’d barely know when she’s frustrated or tired.
I know, though.
And I’m glad she has a break today too. Especially a break that comes with seeing her Lady Fireballs friends for the first time in a week.
We’re lined up along the baselines, with Tripp and Lila and their kids at a podium at second base, the stands full of fans who were given free tickets to come and meet the newest official member of the Fireballs team. Lila’s speaking about what this town has come to mean to her since she inherited the team a year ago, and I’m getting as antsy as Mackenzie on my other side. She and Brooks brought along their dog, who’s being very well-behaved despite how every single minute feels like it’s taking twenty-six years.
Henri squeezes my hand. “It’ll be over soon, and whatever happens, I’ve got your back,” she whispers.
Mackenzie leans around me to peer at her. “I don’t know if I can take another hour of this. I just need to go somewhere and cry.”
“It’s not over,” Brooks murmurs. “You have too much blackmail material on all the mascots now. I don’t care how much gray hair they put on Fiery. They’ll have to bring him back.”
“I’ve been writing mascot porn between helping with Elsa’s kids,” Henri whispers. “Like, porn written by the mascots. Glow’s story is especially offensive, and you’ll never believe who Meaty gets it on with. If your blackmail material isn’t enough, I’ve got phase two ready to launch.”