Page 68 of A Lot Like Lavender

He cages me against the countertop, in a move that says he’s not letting me go anywhere, so I think things are about to go exactly where I’d like them to. “I loveyou, Red. The couch provides good proximity to you, therefore, I tolerate the couch.”

“But not tonight,” I whisper, letting my hands trail up his chest where my favorite of his tattoos lives, until they’ve slid around his shoulders and my hands are buried in the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Not tonight,” he echoes, pressing a kiss to my temple. The anticipation of our first night together might have me speeding this whole ceremony up. “Finally.”

We’re about to get down to kitchen business, aka kissing and brownie eating—my two favorite hobbies, as it were—when Dinah and Molly join us.

Molly speeds by us in her matching Jordan Jammies—trademark pending—with barely a “hello” and Buttercup in her arms, racing to the dry pool of ducklings. When she hops in, greeting each of them by name, the babies waddle and chirp endlessly around the confused bunny, waiting impatiently for their turn to be snuggled by their mama.

“I swear, you never have a shirt on,” Dinah says, entering the kitchen in jammies with Jack’s face all over them.

I made a matching set for Lola and Chipper, the cat. Jack is absolutely going to hate it so much. I smile just thinking about it.

“I was holding Marigold.” Jordan grabs his shirt from where it hangs over the couch and slips it on over his head. “Keeping ducklings warm is a challenge and skin-to-skin contact can be comforting.”

Amen.

“Jackson, Griffin, and Bill are on their way to set up the chairs,” he says, sadly abandoning our previous pursuits to wash his hands in the kitchen sink. Dinah and I glance at each other with delighted approval. If a man washes his hands after duck holding, surely he does so after using the bathroom. “I’m guessing I won’t see you girls for about”—he checks the watch on his wrist—“a hundred and eighty minutes.”

“Correct,” my sister confirms. “And we will need all of those one hundred and eighty minutes to primp. So say goodbye, and make it quick.”

“She’s so bossy.” Jordan smiles, but obeys, calling over to Molly first, “I love you, kiddo. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Molly jumps out of the pool just as quickly as she entered, hurrying for a hug before he leaves. I wonder if Jordan notices that the proud smile she gives him is entirely James’. His dimple. His grin. His adorably crooked teeth. What once would have made me sad, feels more like a happy reminder that, even in the womb, she’s never known a day where she wasn’t entirely loved. “I can’t wait until you see my dress. It’s so pretty.”

“It’ll be pretty because you’re wearing it, Little Red.” He kisses her cheek, then turns to me. “And you.”

“Yes?” I approach them, getting in on their snuggle and absolutely loving when both Molly and I are wrapped into a Jordan hug. “Your dress… We had an agreement.”

“We did.”

“And will I see you in it today?” He uses his thumb to tilt my chin up, placing a kiss on my lips. Molly squeals and tries to get out of the snuggle, but he’s not having it. If anything, his hold on us only grows tighter.

I happily respond, giving him one last kiss before the altar, and whispering in his ear so that our daughter isn’t completely scarred for life, “You’ll see me in it tonight. Just after you get your very own, custom jammies.”

Because I get to marry Jordan Love today.

“Finally,” he says again, then reluctantly heads towards the fields to meet our setup crew.

I follow his path at the window, watching Jordan walk through the rows of lavender we planted over ten years ago, on his way to the altar site where we’ve chosen to promise forever to each other.

It’s crazy to think, it wasn’t long ago that this land was bare. Covered in nothing but fields of grass and wildflowers. Lavender farming has been a lesson in patience, if there ever was one. A labor intensive, sometimes painful and often frustrating practice of persistence and endurance, when on many of those days I would have rather given up.

Even after the arduous task of planting acres and acres of seeds in meticulous rows, the plants didn’t mature into the full, flowering bushes they are now for years. All that time of wondering if we’d ever see the beauty of their blooms across the land. Whether they’d grow into anything at all.

But today, looking out at the fields I love so much, and the man I’m building a life with walking through them, I wonder what beauty will come from the next adventure.

What would James do if he knew where we ended up?

I think he’d smile that dimpled smile I adored and say, “Live, Red. Dream new dreams.”

And that’s exactly what I intend to do.

EPILOGUE

DEATH WISH LOVE, BENSON BOONE

JORDAN