Chapter 20

~ ALLIE ~

In her dropped waist gown of ivory lace and English net, Bess Foster Griffon must be the most beautiful bride I’ve seen in my life.

Enchanted by the romantic image, I watch her and her new husband in his Army dress blues walk beneath an arch of sabers raised by men in uniform. Some wear Navy uniforms, and some Army, Logan points out.

“We call it a sword arch, but they call it a saber arch. It’s pretty much the same thing. You’ll want to get your camera ready for the next moment,” he adds as Bess and Tyler reach the final set of sabers and they drop in front of them, entrapping them momentarily, as the couple kisses.

Grinning, I snap a photo on my phone.

“Not for that moment,” Logan corrects. “For this one.”

The sabers rise and Bess gets swatted gently on her rear with a saber by one of the saber bearers. “Welcome to the Army, Mrs. Griffon,” he says and everyone applauds.

Taking a photo again, I find myself laughing and crying at the same time, and I don’t even know the couple. But I’m pulling for them. Something about being here, a part of these traditions, makes me feel closer to them. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to be married to the military, but I’m betting this is a couple who will survive it.

Bess’s daughter walks toward a horse-drawn carriage with Bess and Tyler following her. She looks like a little angel, dressed in the purest of whites, with her flower’s girl gown cascading behind her as she piles herself into the carriage.

A second carriage picks up the wedding party and I spot Maeve and her husband among them, looking even more stunning than in the photo I saw of them. The carriages take a ride along the historic buildings that surround the traffic circle and then the horses pick up a trot as they head down Duke of Gloucester Street toward the dock where they will meet the reception boat.

“Is it my imagination, or does the whole wedding party seem to be made up of happy couples?” I comment, watching how they all seem joined at the hip.

Logan laughs, watching the horse pick up pace. “Not your imagination at all. Maeve and Jack are a couple, of course. Then there’s Lacey and Mick, and Lacey’s sister Vi and Joe—or Captain Shey to me.”

“Captain?”

“Yep. A SEAL commander. I may be out of the military, but the guy will always be Captain Shey to me. The other two couples in the party I don’t know. Must be from the groom’s side.” He gives a nod at the crowd of people headed toward Main Street. “Do you want to walk to the boat? Or we could catch a cab.”

“Let’s walk,” I say, content to tuck my arm inside the crook of his and enjoy the evening. I’m wobbly on Cass’s borrowed heels, but the sight of the stars sparkling above us as we saunter slowly down the brick-paved street is the perfect remedy for my aching toes.

Logan doesn’t seem in a rush, and neither am I, as we pick up conversation with a few of the other guests headed toward the reception.

There are so many people here who recognize Logan from his time in the Navy. Again, I try to envision him as the Lieutenant Commander he once was, wiping my mind clear of images of him in his t-shirts streaked with dirt and paint and the khaki shorts that always are stuffed with things like drywall screws or a tape measure. My eyes gaze at him in the light offered by the streetlamps and I can imagine it somehow now—him in a crisp white uniform issuing commands and taking charge. Taking risks I can’t even fathom, simply because he is proud to serve our country.

How strange it still must be for him to have separated from the Navy and the SEALs. The military is more than a job; it seems to be a way of life. And even to my untrained eyes, I can see how foreign a civilian lifestyle must seem in comparison.

By the time we reach the boat dock, Maeve swoops Logan into a hug. I would feel a hint of jealousy—she’s simply that gorgeous and I’m only human—but before I can, she tosses him aside and pulls me in for an embrace, too. “So glad you could come, Allie,” she says.

She knows my name?

“Logan has told me so much about you.”

Logan told her about me?

“This is my husband Jack.” She guides me to Jack before I can even answer her, and her husband gives me a warm hug. The guy is built from steel beneath his uniform, and I wonder if he’s a SEAL, too. If I knew anything about all those shiny emblems they wear on their uniforms, I bet I’d be able to tell. But to me, they are simply eye candy.

“Thanks so much for coming, Allie,” he says.

“I’m just so happy to be invited,” I finally answer. “Bess is such a beautiful bride and they look perfect together. And her little girl is precious.”

“She is precious, isn’t she? She’s my goddaughter, you know.” Maeve tugs me away from Logan while sending him a playful wink, and he follows close behind as she introduces me around. My head spins from trying to remember all the names, but no one seems to mind if I forget a name or two in this crowd.

“They’re so welcoming, Logan,” I comment when we’re finally able to sit down for dinner.

“It’s a good crowd. Military tends to stick together around here, and on most bases that I’ve been on.”

“It’s like a big family,” one of the other bridesmaids chimes in, leaning into our conversation as she approaches. Lacey, I think is her name, and she bobs her head lower toward us to talk. She and her husband were stationed in San Diego for a while, she tells me, and Logan and she talk fondly of the place he still calls home.

After the boat leaves the dock, I’m mesmerized by how beautiful Annapolis looks from the water in the nighttime. Logan points out the landmarks as we pass—the Capitol, the steeple of St. Mary’s, and the yacht club, unmistakable by the swarm of expensive boats docked in front of it.

We later pass the Naval Academy skyline and he shows me Bancroft Hall, and the dome of the chapel illuminated against the dark sky.

I’m enchanted by this city, unable to pull my eyes from it until I smell the crab cakes that have just been placed in front of me by a white-gloved waiter, making my mouth water. As I take my first bite, my eyes press shut as the taste of the lightly seasoned blue crab floods my taste buds.

That does it. Hell with Newton’s Creek. I’m an Annapolitan now.

Later, Logan drags me—literally—onto the dance floor. I should be completely humiliated by the spectacle I’m making of myself. I’m a horrific dancer. But I’m having too much fun to even care as I stand next to Bess’s little girl who is admirably trying to teach me the Electric Slide.

Logan pulls me close when a slow song starts, and I’m grateful to let the world slip away for a few minutes while I’m lost in his arms. For all the loud music, I can barely hear him speak. But when he holds me, I can feel his heart beat and I swear mine beats in perfect synchronicity.

After the bride tosses the bouquet, Logan whispers in my ear, “I’m dying to get you alone.” The goodbyes and good wishes we share with the people I’ve met tonight are said in the haze of champagne, and we’re on the water taxi again before I know it, snuggling close as the boat takes us toward our B&B in Eastport.

I must have staggered a little getting off the boat—I’ve always been a lightweight when it comes to champagne—because Logan lifts me into his arms and carries me the two blocks to our inn. I start to doze in his arms. But just as I do, I feel the soft bed beneath me as he sets me down.

I’m going to have a hangover tomorrow. And I don’t even care.