Page 174 of A Love Letter to Whiskey
So, we applied for our license, waited the three days, and then jumped on a plane to California.
California was our place. It was where we were young and reckless together, where we finally caved in and submitted to our true feelings — even if it wasn’t the best timing. It was also where we surfed our first real waves together, where we realized that no matter what happened, we’d always be there for each other, someway, somehow.
“Do you think we’re crazy?” I asked my sister, Sylvia, on the evening of the wedding as she fixed my bow tie.
She smiled. “Absolutely.” Her eyes found mine. “But I also think you’re meant for each other.”
“Mom and Dad didn’t even seem surprised when I told them.”
“None of us were.” Sylvia finished up my tie and then grabbed the lapels of my tux. “We all already knew it would be you two in the end. We were just waiting for you dummies to figure it out.”
The ceremony was small and intimate — just my parents, my sisters, B’s mom and Wayne, and of course, Jenna.
It was golden hour on the west coast, the sun slowly making its descent over the water as my father clapped my shoulder from where he stood beside me. My eyes were on the sand around my shoes, my heart racing out of my chest. And then he bent to whisper, “Here she comes.”
With a steadying breath, I lifted my gaze, and there she was.
B walked barefoot through the sand toward me with golden rays of light illuminating her hair like a halo. She wore a white, lacy dress that was shorter in the front and longer, flowier in the back. It showed off those immaculate legs of hers, and the lace tapered her waist, the slim spaghetti straps highlighting her sleek collarbone, elegant neck, and lean arms.
I mapped those freckles on her cheeks as she flushed and walked slowly toward me. They were more pronounced after surfing for a few days, her sun-kissed skin a warm brown, but it was her smile that I couldn’t stop staring at.
She smiled like it was the happiest day of her entire life, like she’d been just waiting and counting down the time to this very moment.
And I felt the same.
I didn’t realize how tight my chest was, how constricted my throat was, how my nerves were making me tremble until my stare crawled up, up, up to meet her eyes.
Her metallic, stormy gray eyes.
As soon as our gaze met, I was hit with flash after flash of memories.
I saw the first time we met, how she looked up at me from where she’d fallen down with one lone curl hanging over her eyes. I saw her tired eyes that night on the beach before I left for college. I saw her laughing in a cat café and surfing the barrel of a wave. I saw her crying at the loss of her father, saw her laughing as we watched a movie from afar when she was in Pittsburgh, saw betrayal and hurt when she saw me with Angel for the first time.
So many incredible moments.
So many painful ones, too.
My eyes watered with each one, and B must have known what I was feeling, because her bottom lip quivered, and she pressed a hand over her heart as if to soothe it.
Maybe she was feeling it, too.
Maybe she was realizing in that exact same moment I was that all the heartbreak had been worth it.
Sounds snapped back to me when B was close, and I realized not only was I crying, but so was everyone else seated around our makeshift ceremony location. There wasn’t a dry eye on that beach, and when B made it close enough for me to reach out and take her hands in mine, I said screw the rules and kissed her right then and there.
“I think you’re supposed to wait until the end of the ceremony to do that,” she breathed against my lips with a smile when I released her.
I shook my head, lining her jaw with my thumb as I counted all the lucky stars that brought her into my life.
“I’ve waited long enough.”
• • •
One year later, we bought our first house together near Newport Beach, California.
I wondered if the universe had decided we’d been through enough hell in our teens and twenties that it decided to give us a break in our thirties, because everything just kind of fell together for us once we were married.
While we debated B moving back home to South Florida or me moving to Pittsburgh, we knew in our hearts that we wanted to start our lives somewhere new and fresh. California was what called to us most.
Like I said — it was our place.
B started looking for publishing houses that had branches in Los Angeles, thinking she’d have to start over.
