Six Months Later

I guess it wouldn’t be called irony or fate if things didn’t come full circle.

Our second chapter had begun at a wedding, and now Dean and I had ended up back in New Jersey on a sunny Saturday in the fall, about to walk down another aisle and make some more grand entrances into a ballroom.

After he’d slipped that diamond ring back onto my finger, we’d both decided that we wanted nothing to do with a long engagement. In true Dean and Kara fashion, we’d planned a wedding in six whirlwind months, with the help of Mom, of course. Seeing vendors, picking favors, ordering dresses, and tasting food all while bicoastal had been a circus, but it had been ridiculously fun because we’d done it together.

Los Angeles called, and I’d come running. Only two weeks after I’d left, I was back, with no one the wiser about where I’d gone or what had happened. And the best part? There was no contract hanging over our heads.

I returned to work at both Dr. Ottoman’s and the hospital, my programs becoming more intensive as I neared the end of my residency program. But it was okay, since Dean flew in and out of the area, playing legs of the tour and then coming home whenever he could.

We’d sat down and had a nice long talk with Patrick, who had apologized to me profusely, numerous times. He’d even bought me a Bentley, and I can’t say it didn’t go a long way because damn, the car was smoking. Dean and I put a policy in place with Patrick when it came to our relationship from now on; we were in control of any media or appearance we made, and he left it to us to work out any business that concerned our love and commitment. It wasn’t perfect between he and I yet, but we were making an effort to get to know each other for Dean’s sake.

“Okay, time to get your veil on. And please, Mama O’Connor, do not ruin my masterpiece!” Heidi flits about me, spraying every lose hair and perfecting my lip gloss as Mom prepares the clip to run through the back of my updo.

Looking in the mirror, butterflies flap through my stomach as I glance down at my wedding dress, an A-line lace number with three-quarter sleeves and an illusion neckline. My wedding dress. I can’t believe I was about to marry my high school sweetheart. The boy I’d had all my firsts with. The man who was going to own all of my lasts.

A flutter of talking, last minute touchups, and then the harp began to play and I was standing at the end of the aisle, my father’s arm holding mine tight. Dean and I had agreed on a secluded resort in the mountains just before the Pennsylvania border, where the leaves were orange and red, and the makeshift aisle sprinkled with hundreds of white rose petals. The sun gleamed down on our small audience of fifty or so.

But all I could see was the love of my life, standing in front of the wooden chuppah in a tuxedo that made my mind fill with dirty, dirty thoughts. Dean’s expression is full of emotion, and when I see his eyes fill with tears, I can no longer hold mine at bay.

Throughout the ceremony, which is officiated by Neil, we cry, laugh, and take each moment to bask in the reality of what is happening.

And when Dean finally reaches up to cup my cheek, our union being announced for the whole world to hear, and kisses me, I know that everything we’ve been through had to happen to get us to this moment.

The day turns to night, and a dance floor appears under hundreds of string lights that make a roof between our guests and the stars.

As we take the dance floor for our first dance, I get lost in those blue eyes that I now get to stare into forever.

A familiar voice fills the air, the guitar I’d heard so many times before backing it. But the song was new, and my heart swooned as Dean’s lyrics about our love flutters over the dance floor.

He’d written us a wedding song. And it was more perfect than any I could have ever imagined.

“Dean Jacobs, will you always love me?” I press my cheek to his, as one of the oldest songs he ever wrote was now playing over the dance floor.

“Kara Jacobs, I will love you until the end of time.” My husband presses his lips to my temple.

“Good. Now write me a new song. I mean, another one.”

Blue, misty eyes meet mine. “They’re only ever about you.”