Page 265 of Come Back to Me

“If she’ll have me,” I rasp, “Tee’s going to be Mrs. Cody Korhonen.”

“So, if her mom knows that, perhaps she won’t pressure Tee, which, from what I can tell, is her source of concern. Most women fear talking about the future as men often are more worried about the present. If you tell both women what your plans are for the future, perhaps they can enjoy today rather than fretting about tomorrow.”

I ponder his words, allowing silence to fall between us. “That’s pretty smart.”

“Why, thank you.”

“It’ll probably go to shit.”

“Perhaps.”

“In fact, it could explode in my face if Tee actually doesn’t have faith in me like she said originally.”

To cement that, Brogan yips.

Jeez.

“You’re the one dating the woman,” Mike grumbles. “What’s your read on the situation? On her?”

I think about everything Calamity Jane told Butch in her letters and everything we’ve shared together as Tee and Cody, and I slowly verbalize, “That she wants ‘normal’ more than she wants to admit. That she craves the kind of love and acceptance her parents have together. She wants a family. She wants the whole nine yards but only so long as she’s allowed to work on her music and has the freedom to expand her craft.”

“You said you wish it was your wedding tomorrow, so I’m assuming you’re willing to give her the space to do that?”

For the first time since this call began, a genuine smile curves my lips. “Damn straight.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“There isn’t one.”

Mike snorts. “Go get ‘er, soldier.”

Cody

The following day

It’d be easy to think that Pigeon Creek was quiet and boring, especially after serving overseas, but life on the Seven Cs is rarely dull.

The passage of time registers, what with Callan conscripting Tee into planning a wedding.

The kid is too exacting for his own good, and this wedding coordinating business—I want to feed Cole a knuckle sandwich for even suggesting it.

If Callan doesn’t have a peptic ulcer by now, I’ll toss my DSLR into the lake.

Last night, Tee couldn’t even watch a game with me because the florist caught a bug and canceled on us last minute and they had to fix the arbor.

For all that Callan’s living on a diet of Tums, he’s done a great job. There’s shit I’d never have noticed if Tee hadn’t complained about having to do it—small favor bags that have silver charms of both figure and hockey skates dangling from them to a post-ceremony dessert bar that’s overflowing with American and Canadian treats beloved by the couple.

The table decor he designed personally and had some local glassblower create vases for the flowers they put in them—each one spells out a message Tee told me he refuses to share with her.

He designed a custom monogram for them, had Zee bake sugar cookies shaped like pucks with their wedding date in frosting, and even created these weird cocktail napkins with printed fun facts about the bride and groom.

Tee said that’s nothing to the crazy display he’s planned for afterward.

Obviously, there are a bunch of hockey players in attendance. The most amazing part is that my hockey-mad girlfriend mostly has her eyes on me.

The wedding’s sweet and all that, but my focus is on her. She’s seated beside the arbor that caused her and Callan such a headache.

She told me that playing the cello is her way of not falling asleep during the whole thing because she can play this music with her eyes closed and mid-dream.

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