Lydia
Love my little girl hard and love her well. For the rest of your life.
Rowan
I promise to love her as hard and as well as you have. Until my last breath, I swear it.
Lydia
Good man.
I tuck a soft sob behind a hand and hiccup, “You stupid, stupid man.”
“Uh oh.” Rowan plants a kiss in the crook of my neck. “You may not wanna read what she said next.” But his finger is already scrolling for me.
I blink through the wetness clouding my vision.
Lydia
One more thing.
Rowan
Don’t get greedy.
Lydia
Kiss my grandbabies for me.
Rowan
Consider it done.
Water laps gentlyagainst the dock under the weight of Rowan’s steps as he makes his way over. Hair mussed, his white collared shirt is untucked, top buttons undone. I imagine his tie tossed aside somewhere between our kitchen and here.
He holds out a steaming cup of hot chocolate. I tug the sleeves of his tuxedo jacket up past my wrists and take the mug between both hands. “Thanks.”
The last of the wedding vendor staff rolled out with their trucks about an hour ago and our guests have probably all made it safely back to their homes.
Rowan and I have our own dock now, outside our back door. The plot of land we built on sits about fifty yards from the cabin where Tess lives. Separated by a sea of towering green pines, you can make out the pulse of light from the television at my mother-in-law’s place from here. Bri’s silhouette can be seen on the couch, Dubs plopped down beside her. Judging by the late hour, I suspect Tess is already asleep.
“I thought Dubs was staying in the camper?” I ask, nodding toward the cabin.
When we renovated the lake house and added on the second bedroom, we also overhauled the old camper standing sentry in the woods on the opposite end of the property. Gutted and redesigned the interior, stabilized the structure, installed a power line. We even cleared out a few trees to make it easier to get to. It’s become an alternate guest room of sorts when we have visitors and the extra bed at Tess’ cabin is occupied.
Rowan grins over the rim of his cocoa. “I mean, histhingsare in the camper. But Bri isn’t, so…”
“Wherever Bri is, Dubs follows.”
He clicks the warm liquid down his throat. “Exactly.”
I huff a quiet laugh, silently wondering if Bri will ever give Dubs a chance beyond the snarky little friendship they’ve formed over the past couple of years.
Rowan throws an arm over the back of the two-person rocker and tousles my hair. “Stop trying to make sense of it, runaway. The BriDubs math is never mathing.”
He urges me closer and I slide over, sinking into the crook of his shoulder. My hand finds his under the moonlight. I twirl his silver wedding band around his finger.
“We did it,” I say.