Page 15 of Love Like This

Epilogue One

Seymour

August 20th…

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today,” the minister greets those in the pews who are eagerly awaiting the wedding that’s about to take place. When it comes time to repeat the vows, Grandpa and Enola’s voices ring throughout the church, confidence that they’re doing the right thing in every word.

From my spot as the best man, I wink at Hannah where she stands next to Enola as the matron-of-honor. We had our ceremony within weeks after I’d absconded with her at the county fair. Once we’d gone inside the house, I’d lead her to my room where I removed the engagement ring I’d purchased from the nightstand a few days after meeting her. Without asking, no way was I taking the chance she’d say no, I slid it on her finger and informed her we were getting married.

Hannah had then declared that I had other things to do with my mouth and they didn’t include talking. Agreeing with her, I’d proceeded to put it to better use for the remainder of the night. She may not have directly said yes to my not a proposal-proposal, but she screamed it over and over as I pleasured her.

That’s not to say we haven’t had some issues here and there. The first was when I informed her that I was resigning my position because I no longer wanted to travel. Hannah worried that I was doing it for her because I knew how she felt about wandering. Namely that she’d done more than she wanted as a kid and no longer wanted to do more.

I assured her that I’d come to the same conclusion myself and now I needed roots. And I’d found them in Sweetville with her.

Thankfully, that appeased her, showing her that I meant it and wouldn’t regret my decision. Being with Hannah, starting our lives together, is my new adventure and I’m excited to embark on it.

That includes helping her open her new shop. She was on the fence about it, worried that having an actual brick and mortar location wouldn’t work, but the residents here, and her loyal customers, convinced her otherwise.

It didn’t hurt that a few well-known chains had contracted her for particular items that they could sell. One even requested an exclusive product that would only be sold through them.

She was speechless for like an hour after that discussion.

Enola quipped that was the quietest Hannah had been since her birth, breaking through her silence and allowing her to share the good news. We celebrated twice that night. Once with the grands, then later by ourselves in our bedroom.

We’re approximately a month from opening, giving us time to set everything up to Hannah’s specification and ensure we follow code. While doing that, she’s working furiously to create inventory and both of us are interviewing potential employees. Those that click with Hannah are being shown how to make certain things, allowing each to focus on a specific area, one that suits their individual talents better.

The entire town is excited and is ready to present a united front on opening day.

As for my career, there are many options I’m considering, though I’m unsure just yet which is the best for me. In the meantime, I’d squirreled enough away to cover any expenses and then some, so I don’t have to rush into anything.

My grandpa and Enola certainly didn’t, I think with a grin.

It took them decades to get here, and while neither regret the detour because they truly believe that’s the paths they were meant to take, it’s amazing to see them pledge their lives to each other at this juncture.

Thankfully, they’re going on a honeymoon, our gift to them – and ourselves. They can both be quite vocal with their um…enthusiasm and Hannah and I would prefer to avoid needing therapy. Just the idea of discussing what sent us there has us blushing and shuddering. I’ll let you guess which of us is doing what.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the minister announces and grandpa bends Enola backward and plants a big one on her.

“Gramps, you’re in public,” I remind him when they don’t come up for air.

When they finally do, he shrugs as Enola pats his chest and loudly, thanks to the microphone near them, declares, “I bet you could teach these young’uns a thing or two, Peter.”

Oh good grief.

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