Page 73 of Protected By the Grumpy Single Dad
Ms. Rainbow chooses that moment to scratch at the bedroom door, her whine echoing through the wood.
“She knows it’s her turn to walk the aisle,” Brick says, deadpan.
I groan. “You didn’t.”
His smirk widens. “Puppies have bow ties, Jasmine. Bow ties.”
Of course they do.
I press my hands to my face and giggle, the absurdity of my life bubbling over. A year ago, I said “yes” in a diner strung with lights and roses. The wedding followed, again in my diner full of family members. I was blessed that my mother was clear enough to come and give me away on my special day. As I recall, the minister left with a large box of scones and lemon bars, a smile from ear to ear.
Today, we’re celebrating our first anniversary with a vow renewal—because Riley claimed one celebration wasn’t nearly enough and Mrs. O’Hara threatened mutiny if she wasn’t allowed to throw us a party.
Riley also insisted that Ms. Rainbow and her puppies would be part of the “wedding party.”
Asher pretends to be grumpy about it, but I caught him sneaking bacon to the puppies this morning. He’s as smitten as Brick.
“Go,” I tell Brick, shooing him with my hand. “Make sure your furry siblings are ready.”
He pauses at the door, his expression softening. “You look really happy, Jazz.”
I blink against the sudden prick of tears. “I am, Brick. I really am.”
He nods and disappears, and I take one last look at the mirror. Not perfect. But perfectly me.
The backyard of our new lakeside home—the one we bought together as a family—is strung with lights. The late summer sun dips low, painting everything in gold. Rows of matching white folding chairs stretch across the lawn, filled with the people who’ve become my family. Riley sits near the front, camera in hand, already misty-eyed. Mrs. O’Hara fans herself dramatically, no doubt ready to narrate every moment for the next fifty years.
And at the end of the aisle—there he is.
Asher Vaughn, in a suit that fits him like it was sewn for this exact day, hair with just a little silver at the temples, eyes locked on me like I’m the only one in existence. He smiles, slow and sure, and my knees nearly give out.
The music swells. And then—chaos.
Ms. Rainbow trots proudly down the aisle, tail wagging, a garland of daisies around her neck. Behind her, six wriggling puppies waddle in uneven lines, each with a ridiculous satin bow tie. The crowd erupts in laughter as one pup veers into the second row, showering guests with licks. Another sprawls on the grass halfway down, rolling onto his back as if belly rubs are a constitutional right.
I cover my mouth, trying not to burst into hysterics.
Asher pinches the bridge of his nose, fighting a smile, then catches my eye. And that does it. We both laugh, loud and unrestrained, in front of everyone. The puppies eventually tumble into a wiggling heap near the altar, while Ms. Rainbow flops at Brick’s feet like she’s guarding him.
When it’s finally my turn to walk, I don’t see the crowd or the flowers. I see him. Just him. Every step closer, my heart steadies.
The vows are simple. No grand speeches, no rehearsed poetry. Just honesty.
“I thought my chance at love ended years ago,” Asher says, his voice low but carrying. “I thought my life was already written. And then you walked in and rewrote everything. Jasmine, you make me laugh when I want to growl, you make me hope when I want to give up, and you make me believe I deserve more than just duty. I love you. I choose you. Always.”
My tears are shameless now.
I take his hands, strong and warm around mine. “I never thought I’d trust anyone again. But you—Sheriff Vaughn, Asher—you proved me wrong. You’ve shown me that love can be safe and wild all at once. You’ve given Brick the kind of steady love he deserves. You’ve given me a wonderful son in him, a precious daughter, and a home I never thought I’d have. I love you. And I’ll keep choosing you, too.”
The kiss seals it. The crowd cheers. Brick whoops loud enough to scare the puppies.
The reception is chaos in the best way. Pies on every table. Riley dancing barefoot in the grass, often with the new deputy just come to town.Now that will deserve some conversations. Brick attempting to teach Mrs. O’Hara how to floss (the dance, not dental hygiene); mom being supported by her besties, Heather and Eloise; and Asher holding me close under the string lights, whispering jokes that make me laugh so hard I nearly drop my slice of cherry pie
And then—her.
Clara Rebecca Vaughn. Pink, pudgy, swaddled in my arms as I sit on the porch swing later that night. Just two months old, and already the queen of our world. Brick sits beside me, his expression a mix of awe and fierce protectiveness.
“She smells weird,” he says, wrinkling his nose.
