Page 134 of Jack

“Oaken won’t be able to speak,” Austen said.

“I hope he can speak enough to say I do,” Boo said, laughing.

“He’ll be able to nod. Maybe grunt or something,” London said.

The door opened and Megan, who’d stepped out, came back in. “We’re ready for you. Bridesmaids, I need you in reverse order, like we practiced.”

Penelope stood at the front, then London, and Harper lined up between London and Austen, who stood in front of Boo. Her mother kissed her cheek and exited.

And right then, Harper caught a glimpse of Jack, standing in the vestibule.

He could take her breath away. If possible, the tux only made his shoulders wider, his waist trimmer, sculpted his entire body. His hair hung just above his collar, dark and curly, and he’d trimmed his dark beard for the occasion. He stood, his hands clasped in front of him, and all she could think of was those hands pulling her to himself on the boat.

She may have crushed on him as a child, dreamed about him as a high-schooler, but the last few days, spending time with him, discovering him—no,findinghim—had nourished in her feelings that had taken breath and life and . . . hope.

She loved this man. Loved him enough to . . . what? Stay in Duck Lake? Follow him around the country?

To find a life with him, wherever that might be.

“You should go,” Austen said from behind, and only then did Harper realize that London had moved forward.

Shep held out his arm—he had cleaned up well too and wore a look of appreciation for London.

And then Harper searched for Jack’s gaze.

No appreciation. Not even kindness. His mouth pinched, and he glanced away as she took his arm. His stiff, unmoving arm.

The arm of a man who wanted to ghost her.

He didn’t spare her a look as they stepped up to the sanctuary door.

Inside, sprays of blue and white roses hung along the carved wooden pews. And at the front, an organist played “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.”

But in the back, a frost settled over her.

Megan nodded, and Jack stepped out, stiff, a soldier doing his duty.

Harper pinned her eyes to the front, glancing once at Oaken, dressed in a tuxedo, his face stalwart, as if trying not to weep.

Her too.

She looked away and spotted Penelope, all grins, having walked down with Conrad. And next to her, London, now taking her place on the stage, her smile aglow.

They reached the bottom on the stage and Jack simply dropped his arm. He held out his hand to help her up the steps, but she ignored it. Managed on her own, then took her place beside London. Somehow managed not to cry as Austen came down on the arm of Steinbeck, her brother. Then the congregation rose for Boo and,aw, now she had cover.

So many tears. At least she didn’t blubber as Boo came down the aisle, glowing, and took Oaken’s hand.

Beautiful.From the vows, with Boo’s romantic quote, to Oaken’s song, written just for her. A man, a guitar, and eyes only for his bride.

And then the pastor pronounced them married.

They walked back up the aisle to cheering, and the bridesmaids followed on the arms of the groomsmen, and if she’d thought Jack was chilly on the way down the aisle, she practically caught frostbite during the recessional. He couldn’t get rid of her fast enough when they reached the vestibule.

He walked over to Boo, gave her a hug, along with Oaken, and stepped away, a strange expression on his face.

Whatever.She didn’t care.

She hugged Boo. “Congratulations.”

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