“Things are settled.” She says it with the force of fact, not wishful thinking. “You’re both here. I haven’t run away to join the circus. We have a dog that only pees indoors sometimes. If you don’t set a date, I’m going to die of suspense.”
Nathan looks at me, eyebrows up. “She’s not wrong.”
“I’m aware,” I say, and it is just like every old argument, except no one is yelling and everyone is smiling.
Cassie sits up, gathering her shells into a neat pyramid. “I want to be the flower girl,” she says, not looking at either of us.
I blink. “Don’t you think you’re a little old for that?”
She shrugs. “I’ll wear a suit. Or a lab coat. Amaya can be the other flower girl. We’ll scientifically optimize petal distribution.”
Nathan starts to say something, then just shakes his head, grinning.
I dig my toes deeper into the sand. “I don’t want a big thing,” I say, more to myself than to them. “No tent, no band. Just…us. Here.”
Nathan’s hand finds mine. “Beach wedding?”
The words sound made up. Like a joke, or a movie pitch. But I like them. “Why not? Everyone we love is in a twenty-mile radius. And the sand is free.”
Cassie bounces on her heels. “Can we get a dog tuxedo for Rolo?”
“We can get a dog tuxedo for every dog on the beach,” Nathan says.
Cassie whoops, already planning logistics.
I turn to Nathan, suddenly self-conscious. “Is that okay with you?”
He nods, smiling so wide the scar at his jaw deepens into a dimple. “It’s perfect.”
I tear up, just a little, and Cassie rolls her eyes so hard I think she might sprain something. I look at him and then at Cassie, her face scrunched up in mock disgust but also smiling.
“Sara always knew we would end up together,” I say, and it comes out steadier than I expect.
Nathan nods, slow and certain. “She did.”
Cassie leans in, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’re definitely going to cry at your own wedding.”
“Absolutely,” I say, not ashamed.
Nathan laughs. “Then I will, too. We’ll be a mess together.”
Cassie sifts through her shells, selects the sand dollar, and sets it on my knee. “You should use these for decorations,” she says. “We could glue them to, like, everything. It would be on theme.”
“That’s actually brilliant,” Nathan says, and Cassie glows.
We fall into planning—real planning, not just jokes and hypotheticals. Who to invite. What time of day. Whether you can actually get a marriage license from the same courthouse where Sara used to work. Nathan wants to write the vows together. I veto, on the grounds that I don’t want him to see mine in advance. Cassie demands a sandcastle-building contest for the reception. Nathan volunteers to build a driftwood arch. I suggest borrowing folding chairs from the high school.
It’s all so ordinary, so sweetly absurd, that I want to bottle the feeling for later, when everything will inevitably feel harder and messier. I want to save it for Cassie, for myself, for the version of us that doesn’t know how this turns out.
We lean together, heads almost touching, until the sun is high enough that the sand no longer feels cold.
Nathan tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s settled, then,” he says. “Beach wedding. Minimum chaos. Maximum us.”
I nod. “Perfect.”
Cassie claps once, loudly. “I am going to make an epic spreadsheet.”
Nathan and I look at each other, then burst out laughing.