Page 107 of The Accidental Honeymoon

"I love you," I shout over my shoulder to my wife. "Wait for me!"

"Where the heck are they taking him?” I hear her demanding of someone on the moving sidewalk.

“You can come get your boyfriend at the TSA offices,” one of the cops yells over his shoulder, “They’re right next to the baggage claim.”

Calla runs after us. “He’s actually my husband! Funny story… We had some tequila and got matching tattoos, right? Then we accidentally got married…”

thirty-nine

CALLA

Six MonthsLater

Why am I so nervous? This is my second rodeo. Minus the tequila, of course. I’ll be sober as a judge when I make my vows.

This time, Jay and I will both mean it. Till death do us part.

I stand in front of the mirror, fiddling with the neckline of my dress. It’s a soft ivory, the exact color of a dollop of vanilla-infused whipped cream. It fits me better than I expected. Coupled with my shoulder-length veil and a bouquet of calla lilies, I look as graceful as a ballerina.

My hair, however, is doing thatthingwhere it refuses to cooperate. It’s a tangle of dark brown and its rebellion works against my usually meticulous style. I try to smooth it down. A curl pops up and I try for another full minute to get it to lay down. Then I give up and let it be.

My hair just refuses to be tamed, apparently.

I take a deep breath. Then I take another. It’s not as if I’m talking myself into anything. Wild horses couldn’t tearme away from meeting Jay at the altar. I’m not his ex-fiancée Blake and I’m determined to show up for him.

Plus, we’re already married!

I pick up the small bouquet of white lilies and baby’s breath. My hands are sweaty, ruining the delicate tissue paper wrapping. I set it down quickly.

God, is Jay this worried?

I open the door a crack and peek out. Jay is pacing the hallway, his brow furrowed. He looks tall and handsome in his charcoal suit. His movements betray a hint of nervousness.

So yes. We’re both anxious.

He stops pacing. He checks his watch and runs a hand through his hair. There’s a tension in his movements that I’m not used to seeing. My husband, and husband to be, is the epitome of laid-back. He is the kind of guy who can make eating a bowl of granola look like an adventure. This is endearing.

I retreat back into the room to grab two things. One, an expensive pocket square in a that I had specially made for today. It’s in a brilliant shade of chartreuse. And two, a matching length of chartreuse ribbon that I wind around the base of my bouquet.

I take the bouquet again, more gently this time. Then I open the door.

Jay turns. For a moment, I think he’s going to break into that easy, confident smile that disarms everyone in a ten-mile radius. But he doesn’t. Instead, his blue eyes meet mine with an intensity that makes me want to look away because I couldn’t believe a look like that would be directed at me. Now I can’t stop looking back at him.

“Ready?” he asks softly.

“I have something for you.” I beckon him closer and then tuck the pocket square in his suit pocket.

Jay breaks out into a grin. “You remembered my wedding colors.”

“It’s funny. I remember everything about that day except the actual marriage.”

He stares at me for a second then shakes his head. “You’re perfect. Do you know that? Absolutely meant for me. I feel really lucky.”

“Not as lucky as I feel. Trust me.” I wrinkle my nose and show him my bouquet. “We’re a matching pair. In life, in everything. Chartreuse may not be a popular wedding color. But if we both wear it, nobody will say boo.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it. I’m pretty sure that every single person invited to this wedding is rooting for us.” He helps me into a cream-colored overcoat to ward off the crisp autumn chill, then offers me his elbow. “Ready?”

“Beyond ready,” I tell him. He shrugs on a dark overcoat and ushers me out of the building.

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