Page 66 of The Breakup Broker

“Your father’s pacing outside,” Ivy announced, sweeping in with her makeup kit. For once, she wasn’t the one wearing the outrageous bridesmaid dress—instead, she looked elegant in a deep blue silk that fit and didn’t have a bustle. “I think he’s having a crisis about his manicure.”

I laughed, remembering the epic battle to get forty years of engine grease from under his fingernails. After three hours at Gloria’s favorite spa, Dad had emerged lookingdistinctly traumatized but with hands that could touch white silk without leaving marks.

“How’s the crowd?” I asked, trying to peek through the window without disturbing Mom’s careful arrangement of my train.

“Full house,” Maddy reported, joining us with a clipboard I was pretty sure was for show.

It struck me then—how easily we all moved around each other, how effortlessly we fit.

After months of wedding planning, last-minute disasters, and more than a few wine-fueled strategy sessions, we’d become something close to family. Even Mason, who’d initially treated all of this like one of his legal negotiations, had somehow ended up in the middle of everything—coordinating contracts, keeping the town gossip from derailing vendor agreements, and suffering through more group chats than any man should have to endure.

“Mrs. Patterson’s crying, and we haven’t even started. Also, she’s live tweeting everything.”

“Of course she is.” I smoothed my hands over the vintage silk, remembering all the endings I’d orchestrated in designer suits with professional distance. Today was different—like stepping into my story instead of managing everyone else’s.

“Mr. Dixon’s in the front row,” Ivy added, making minute adjustments to my mascara. “Looking surprisingly dapper for someone who usually dresses like he raided a thrift store in 1962.”

“Did you know this place used to be River Bend’s social center? Before it became, you know...”

“A glorified storage unit for his unsold antiques?” I finished, remembering all the times we’d passedby The Weathered Barn, wondering what treasures lay buried under decades of dust.

“Speaking of which,” Ivy’s eyes sparkled with familiar mischief, “have you seen what he did with the entire space?”

I shook my head. We’d cleaned out enough room for the ceremony, but the back room had remained Mr. Dixon’s domain.

“He cleared it all out,” Maddy said excitedly. “Every single piece. He said it was his wedding gift to you—a blank canvas for whatever follows.”

A knock at the door interrupted whatever she was about to say next. Dad poked his head in, and my breath caught. Paul Honeysucker, who I’d never seen in anything fancier than clean coveralls, stood in a perfectly tailored tux.

"Ready to do this, kiddo?" His voice was gruff with emotion, and I noticed the faint hesitation in his movements as he offered his elbow.

Dad squeezed my arm as we paused at the entrance. The Weathered Barn had been transformed—mason jars filled with fairy lights hung from rustic wooden beams, and wildflowers lined the aisle in copper pots that Dad had restored, each one polished to a mirror shine. White hydrangeas and blue delphiniums created a natural cascade, punctuated by sprays of Queen Anne’s lace that reminded me of stars.

Henry stood waiting beneath an arch woven with ivy and white roses, and the moment our eyes met, everything else faded away. Even Mrs. Patterson’s theatrical sobbing from the front row couldn’t break the spell.

When Dad placed my hand in Henry’s, he said, “Take care of my girl.” His voice was rough with emotion, and I saw Henry blink back tears.

“Dearly beloved,” Gloria began—we’d insisted she get ordained just for this—“we’re gathered here today because these two got their act together.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd as she continued, “And because sometimes the best love stories take the scenic route.”

When it came time for our vows, Henry said, “Savvy Honeysucker, I spent five years trying to convince myself I could live without you. I was wrong. You are my north star, my harbor in every storm, my reason for fighting back when it would be easier to give in. I vow to spend every day making sure you never doubt that you’re the best decision I’ve ever made.” His voice carried clear and strong through the barn.

My hands rested in his as I began my own vows. “Henry Kingston, you crashed back into my life like a perfect storm, turning everything upside down in the best possible way. I promise to fight for us, to never take the simple path if it means walking away from you. I promise to love you through every imperfect, beautiful moment that lies ahead.”

A warm June breeze carried the scent of roses through the barn’s open doors as Gloria pronounced us husband and wife. When Henry kissed me, Maddy’s “subtle” special effects—a cascade of silver streamers—went off early, showering everyone with sparkles. The timing was wrong but somehow perfect, like us.

After the streamers settled around us like silver rain, I squeezed Henry’s hand. “Wait,” I whispered. “I have something for you.”

From a hidden pocket Ivy had expertly sewn into my dress, I pulled out a yellowed cocktail napkin, preserved despite the years. Henry’s eyes widened in recognition as Iunfolded a sketch of a little house by the river, complete with garden space and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

“You kept it.” His fingers traced the faded lines. “All this time?”

“Maybe some part of me never stopped believing in that dream,” I said softly. “Even when I was doing everything possible to prove I didn’t need it.”

Henry pressed his forehead to mine, the napkin caught between our clasped hands. “We can still build it, you know. All of it.”

His laugh was thick with emotion as he carefully folded the memory into his jacket pocket, right over his heart.

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