I THOUGHT I WAS prepared to see Ember in a wedding dress, but I was wrong. She was so beautiful it felt like a punch in the gut. The bridge of my nose prickled as my throat closed up. She was already my wife, but I was ready to promise her forever once again. Ember Knightly had married me for the money. I’d married her for keeps.

Life only made sense when Ember was by my side.

Our gazes met. With a tremulous smile, she started her slow walk down the aisle. Her dress rippled like water around her legs, cut close to the body and flattering every curve. Sadie had made it as a wedding present for us. I made a mental note to thank her for being a genius. Ember looked like a goddess.

My best man, Gideon, put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. I nodded, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of the love of my life.

Neither could anyone else.

Everyone in the pews turned to stare as my wife walked down the aisle. Lined up across from me on the dais, my daughter, Sadie, and Caroline stood waiting for Ember. I stole a glance at my daughter in her maid-of-honor dress, catching the way she wiped at a tear under her eye behind the small bouquet of flowers in her hands. Darby met my gaze and smiled, sniffling.

My heart couldn’t take much more of this.

I turned back to watch my wife’s approach. Ember was as beautiful as she’d been that very first day we met. Her eyes were jade green and already watering, those lush lips curved into a trembling smile. I couldn’t wait to put my arms around her again.

She paused at the bottom of the dais and turned back to the people in the front row. My grandmother sat on the edge, a baby cradled in her arms. Ember went to her, touching our son’s hair before pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Our child.

Mark—named after my late father—had come into the world kicking and screaming five months ago. Now he slept in my grandmother’s arms, wearing a tiny suit, his curly mop of hair black against Grandma Mars’s pale blue blazer. Ember gave them both another smile, and my grandmother arched a brow.

See, the look said, I was right. You two belong together.

Ember pursed her lips, as if she didn’t want to admit it but couldn’t bring herself to deny it. She faced me again, and I couldn’t wait any longer. I jumped down the steps and dragged her up to the top of the dais beside me. Our guests laughed, but I didn’t care that I looked eager. I was eager. I wanted to speak those vows again and mean them this time. I wanted to tell Ember that only death would part us. That life, from now on, would mean we were together.

We’d been married two years, and over those twenty-four months, I’d coaxed the truth out of Ember: She’d always wanted a beautiful wedding. Our hasty little ceremony in my grandmother’s chapel with a grumpy reverend and a couple of witnesses she didn’t know didn’t cut it. She wanted the flowers and the catering and the music. She wanted to dance and listen to speeches.

And I’d do anything to make Ember happy.

“Hi,” she whispered to me.

“Hi,” I whispered back.

“Dearly beloved!” Reverend Strife announced. He paused, giving us both a deep nod. “We are gathered here today—”

An ear-splitting wail interrupted him. Grandma Mars began bouncing our son, shushing and humming to quiet him down. Mark, being the stubborn ball of lungs he was, only screamed harder.

Ember gave me a look that was half-exasperated, half-elated before handing her bouquet off to Darby. Then she picked her skirt up and went back down the steps.

“I’ll take him out. You get up there and make your vows,” Grandma grumbled.

“I want you to be here for the ceremony,” Ember said, and my grandmother relented. The two of them had come to a truce when Ember returned to town and opened The Gilded Teapot. Then my grandmother began to visit the shop, and the two of them had grown closer. Now they were friends; I knew Ember was telling the truth about wanting Grandma Mars to watch the ceremony.

She took our son in her arms and settled him, then met my gaze and grinned. Walking back up to the top of the dais, she bounced Mark until he looked out at our audience with his big green eyes. A chorus of awws echoed in the church.

“Here, I’ll take him,” I murmured. “I don’t want him to ruin your dress.”

Ember smiled as I propped our son on my shoulder and patted his back. Then I looked at the reverend and nodded.

We promised each other forever once again, and this time, we meant it. I kissed Ember with our son on my shoulder, and before we walked back down the aisle again, she turned to Darby with tears in her eyes and gave her a bone-crushing hug. My daughter’s tears fell freely as she squeezed Ember right back.

With my own throat a raw mass of tense flesh, I extended my elbow for Ember to take while I held onto our son with my hands. Ember wrapped her hand around my biceps, then extended her hand toward Darby. Darby’s lip wobbled, and then her face broke into a wide smile as she slipped her hand in Ember’s.

That’s how we walked down the aisle and out of the church—the four of us linked. The way we’d been since that day two years ago. The way we were meant to be.


OUR WEDDING RECEPTION was at The Pier. We’d rented one of the private function rooms, and Ember had overseen every detail. The room was lit with soft, warm lamps, giving the room a golden glow. Tables were draped in crisp white tablecloths and decorated with floral centerpieces. The room opened onto a big balcony where more tables were set up overlooking the ocean. There was a snack bar near the balcony doors, with the main meal planned for slightly later.

We entered to the sound of cheers, our guests having arrived while we were taking photos down by the water. My cheeks hurt from smiling so much. I hadn’t realized how good it would feel to have a real wedding, to make it truly official that I belonged to Ember and she belonged to me.

“It’s beautiful,” I told Ember as we walked into the reception room. “You were right about the lighting.”

She’d insisted we have the room’s modern sconces replaced with warm lighting, which Ida had been more than happy to accommodate. The result was an intimate, comfortable atmosphere.

“And you were right about the centerpieces,” Ember said, knocking her hip against mine. She’d tried to tell me we didn’t need to spend money on centerpieces, but I’d seen the gleam in her eyes. She wanted them, and what Ember wanted, she would have.

I tilted my head to smile at her, Mark still wriggling in my arms, and then I frowned. There was no gleam in Ember’s eyes right now. No—she was frowning. Her shoulders were tense, and her body had gone utterly still.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, then followed her gaze.

I froze.

Propped on the balcony railing just outside the wide double doors, perched a raccoon that watched us with beady black eyes. It bared its teeth.

A noise came out of Ember, some deep, guttural denial. Before I could say anything, she was sprinting across the room. Guests scattered, startled exclamations echoing around the room as the raccoon was spotted by more and more people.

Ember sidestepped toward the buffet table and grabbed a metal bucket full of breadsticks. Holding the bucket clutched against her side, she wrenched a handful of breadsticks out and threw them over the balcony in the raccoon’s direction.

“Out!” she yelled. “Get out, rabid creature!”

The raccoon hissed and promptly got a face full of breadsticks. Our guests, who had crowded onto the balcony, made a collective ooh sound. The raccoon arched its back, looking like it was about to launch itself at us. Ember widened her stance and growled at it. She grabbed the empty metal bucket and held it up, a clear threat.

My brave, stubborn, beautiful wife.

Before Ember could throw the bucket, the raccoon disappeared over the edge of the balcony. I jogged over to where Ember stood peering over the edge. The raccoon feasted on breadsticks down below.

“Well,” my grandmother said as she glanced over the railing beside me. “That’s one way of handling things.”

“Go Ember!” Darby exclaimed. She had her phone out and was filming the whole thing with a gigantic smile on her face.

Mark cooed in my ear, enjoying the excitement.

Ember huffed, shaking her head. The front of her dress was covered in breadcrumbs and sesame seeds. She met my gaze, her shoulders dropping. The breadstick bucket dangled from her fingertips. “I’ve probably made things worse,” she said, brows drawing together. “Now it’ll come back when it wants more food. You’re not supposed to feed wildlife.” She put a hand against her forehead, distress pulling her features tight. “I wasn’t thinking. I just didn’t want anyone to get rabies.”

My lips twitched. “Here,” I said, handing the baby over to her. “I’ll call Harry,” I said, naming the local animal control officer. Ember settled the baby in her arms and finally looked at me. My face must have betrayed me, because my wife went from looking upset to looking very angry.

Her eyes narrowed. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“It’s not,” she insisted.

A bird’s screech interrupted us, and we both turned toward the noise. The sky darkened, and Ember let out a low moan.

Dozens of seagulls descended on the breadstick feast. The raccoon hissed at them, but the birds were undeterred. Ember watched, clutching our son as she peered over the handrail. She moaned again, and I couldn’t help but laugh. A full-throated, head-thrown-back kind of laugh. Things were never dull when Ember was around.

My wife glared at me, but all I did was put my arms around her and our baby, holding them both close so I could kiss her lips. “I love you,” I told her, grinning.

“Go call Harry,” she grumbled. When I nudged her nose with mine, she softened and tilted her head up to accept my kiss. Then I pressed my lips to the crown of our son’s head and went to call animal control.

Life was good, and it kept getting better. I was grateful for all of it—raccoons and all.