Page 49 of Eight Years Gone

Twelve

The sun quickly descended toward the horizon as Jagger set the final centerpiece on the last table under the massive tent. The clouds and drizzle of yesterday had given way to warmth and clear skies for the bride and groom’s special day.

Maggie had been right when she’d called this the wedding of the year. There were two dance floors for two hundred and fifty guests and a kick-ass band already setting up for the evening’s festivities. The swank country club gardens surrounding the event only added to the elegance Grace had spoken of while they dethorned roses in the processing room.

He glanced in her direction, hurrying her way as she stepped another rung higher on the twelve-foot ladder she stood on, stretching to add another piece of the trailing ivy to the chandelier she was finishing with the final touches.

“Hold up,” he said, climbing up far enough to grab the back waist of her jeans, keeping her steady as she reached over her head again.

She looked down. “Thanks. It’s pretty high up here.”

“You’re definitely braver than me.”

She raised her brow. “Says the guy who regularly jumped out of planes.”

He smiled. “Yeah, but I had a parachute.”

She grinned before she turned to get back to work, standing on her tiptoes as she pushed another piece of ivy into place.

He grinned at her back as he tightened his hold on her pants, loving that she’d tossed more than a few smiles his way over the last couple of hours. So far, things were going great.

They’d made a good team, falling into the efficient rhythm of two people who had done several site setups together over the years. Grace had delivered bouquets to the bridal party, then worked on the chandelier while he took care of the centerpiece arrangements.

And conversation was getting easier between them—not quite as stiff. But she still peppered him with questions about his former career: what was direct-action warfare, who did he talk to when he wore those headphones she saw in so many of the pictures online, and what were Africa and the Middle East like?

He wanted to talk about something different—more important things. But for now, he would take what he could get.

Grace dropped back to her feet on the metal rung, looking down at him again. “I think that’s it.”

“It looks great.” And it did. Grace had done an amazing job. The twinkle of interwoven fairy lights and the new trailing vines brought the entire space together.

“Thanks,” she said, climbing down after him, brushing off her hands. “Everything’s coming together.”

He studied the sweeping white ceiling drapes and the dozen smaller bubble light chandeliers that complimented Grace’s hard work. The table flowers centered among fine china and crystal glassware added to the stunning effect. “You were right.”

She frowned. “About what?”

“When you said white on white was elegant, I had a hard time believing you.”

“Wait till they start lighting the candles on the tables.”

“It’s beautiful.”

She touched his arm. “Thank you, Jagger, for helping me. This would have been a lot for Aunt Maggie, especially with all the deliveries we took care of first.”

He nodded. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

She swallowed as she held his gaze, clearly understanding his double meaning.

“Grace.”

They both looked over when the petite raven-haired woman walked their way in a burgundy spaghetti-strap dress.

Grace smiled. “Rachel.”

Rachel pressed her hand to her heart. “Everything’s so stunning.”

Grace smiled again. “Including you.”

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