“Del and the teens can handle it.”
“Meadow, you amaze me.”
“Trust me, beloved husband-to-be, I’m just getting started.”
“Hard to believe it’s been a year since your cave-in, sis.” Lake wove Meadow’s arm through his at Havenbrook Church’s entrance. She nodded beneath the archway Colin had carved for their wedding. The wood boasted purple and fuchsia flowers.
Speckles of snow remained from this winter, but unlike last February, flowers had cropped up in colorful echoes of an early spring. Warmth whispered through the trees, rustling the ringlets that framed her veil.
The music started. Her heart leaped. Lake grinned. “Ready?”
“Ready,” she breathed.
They started the famed walk down parchment she’d seen so many other brides traverse. Today it was her. She smiled at her attendant siblings, each one grinning and glisten-eyed at her approach. Even tough-skinned Skye.
Meadow’s gaze affixed on her groom. Colin’s eyes shone as Lake kissed her cheek and handed her off.
As they faced the pastor, Colin clutched her hand as tightly as he held her heart.
Thirty minutes and two sets of vows later, she knelt before the candle stand Colin had fashioned with his hands.
Her husband. Smiles erupted inside and out.
She read his special inscription. Ran her fingers across each word, knowing they stood true and would always remain.
This day, I marry my friend.
Their Valentine’s Day wedding date was etched beside the words.
Their rings reflected light from an LED cross as their fingers mingled, symbolic of good things to come. Colin held her gaze before they merged the flames from two candles into one and rose.
After a kiss that sent the church into whistling, rowdy applause, the pastor announced, “I’m honored to introduce Mr. and Mrs. Colin McGrath.”
Grinning, Colin led her outside to a gorgeous horse-drawn carriage.
“A fairy-tale ride?” She ran hands down the necks of each horse.
“Yes.” He smiled, watching her reaction as he helped her into the plush velvet seat. “With Andalusians.”
Squealing, she hugged him, unwittingly giving him access to her neck. He planted a steamy kiss there.
Cheeks scorching, she grinned but dipped her chin.
Reins in hand, he lifted her face. “No shame, Meadow. Blushing becomes you.” Lifting emerald eyes to sapphire sky, he said, “Lord, thank you for serving up the blessing of my sweetheart.”
Cheryl Wyatt writes romance with virtue. She’s a USA Today bestselling author and has earned RT Top Picks, spots #1 and #4 on her debut publisher’s Top 10 Most-Blogged-About-Books list, Romantic Times Reviewers Choice Award, Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence final, and other awards. Cheryl loves readers! Join her newsletter at www.CherylWyatt.com Facebook: CherylWyattAuthor Twitter: @cherylwyatt
To Jean, Kathy, and Donna, who welcomed me into “Bridal Hall” and made eight years of my life so much fun! God bless you, my friends! You are beloved!
Greg Elizondo stared at the daily ledger on the front desk of his mother’s bridal salon. The white leather-bound appointment book taunted him. He swallowed hard and fought the rising surge of panic.
Six appointments were due in throughout the day and no one to handle them. Six future brides, along with whatever form of friend, family, or foe they dragged through the front door with them, coming to find the dress of their dreams for that oh-so-special day. And no one but him in the store.
Panic escalated to full-bore heart attack mode.
Call some of your mother’s former employees. Someone must be able to help.
They would, too, if only they were available. They had gathered around him at the midsummer funeral, professing their love for his mother and pledging their help. And his mother’s regular employees—her “bridal team,” as she’d called them—had done a great job keeping things afloat all fall.
Then Donna delivered twins at Thanksgiving, and Jean needed time off unexpectedly to care for her sick father. Kathy was down with the current stomach bug, and the newest bridal consultant had called in yesterday, the last day of her vacation, to give notice, saying she was staying in Louisiana to save some fish from extinction.
Who did that kind of thing, anyway?
Maybe there was somebody else. Anybody.
His mother’s 1980s Rolodex lay in the top drawer. He leafed through it, searching for familiar names. Two of them had gone south for retirement, one had passed away the previous year, and the only other name he recognized had just been put into a skilled nursing facility near Valley Forge.