I slide into the back of the Cadillac and tell Jim where we’re going. He raises his eyebrow at me in the rearview mirror with a smirk on his face. “Yeah, I know. It’s a wedding and I should have told you, but you’d have still driven me for the free beer you get out of this gig,” I remind him gently of our deal. “But no beer tonight at the wedding. Your beer comes once we return home whenever you cash it in.” His eyes pop open wide in surprise in the mirror at me, but he smiles and winks at me.

He knows the deal. He’s been hauling my ass places, sometimes at short notice, for almost twenty years, and he’s yet to cash in on his beer tab. He’s always been a friend in deed when this friend was in need. I’d do anything for him if he’d ever ask, but he doesn’t. He’s a simple man living a simple life. You can’t ask for anything more than that.

The Ryer Island Ranch comes into view about halfway up the long drive, once you cross over the delta slough on the ferry. There is a wedding tent set up to the left of the barn. Long silver ribbons are wound together and tied to hay pitchforks to create a path for the cars leading to the parking area. Clever. I like it. We park under a wide Elm tree offering plenty of shade.

“I’ll just wait here for you,” Jim states matter-of-factly before sliding his seat back for more leg room and easing it back to rest. He’s got his eyes closed before I’m out the door.

Round, cocktail tables are set up in the grass, with an open bar near them. There are silver tablecloths and other accents decorating the bar area. Fancy.Shmancy. Not sure this fits my bar, but I’ll reserve my opinion until I’ve seen everything.

People mill about talking and laughing, and I just realized that I don’t know any of these people. Well, I know Isabella, but I haven’t seen her yet. It’s a good thing I’m just here to observe the wedding planner. I  mean, take in the decorations.

There’s a small three-piece band set up near the tables, playing elevator music...wait, that’s country elevator music. It’s got that distinctive twang to it. It’s not that I have a problem with country music, some of it I like, but that tinny slow draw of music and voice together is like nails on a chalkboard to me. Even though this is without a voice, I can feel the nerves in my back firing and twisting, begging me to run. I walk in the opposite direction to get away from it.

My watch shows I’ve got ten minutes before everything should start, so I head to the barn. Rounding the corner, past the few small tents that appear to be dressing tents for the wedding party, I hear Isabella talking low.

“There’s no need to be this nervous,” she breathes. “I know it’s a big step. A shake-up and combination of everything in your lives, but you want to share it with him, right?”

“Yes,” the unknown woman whimpers, her voice loaded and shaking with nerves.

“Listen to me,” Isabella says clearing her throat, “I don’t personally know what love feels like, but I know what love looks like. I see it when Brad looks at you. The way he practiced feeding you when we went to taste test all those wedding cakes, and in the way he grabs your hand as soon as you enter a room together. He’s telling the world, ‘She’s mine, and I’m so lucky to have found her’. And the way you look at him could light a million candles with the fire that burns between you. I’ve watched your eyes go soft, being happy and content that Brad is yours. So, shake off these nerves. The first part is the ceremony binding your souls, and the second part is the celebration of that love. The worry and nerves are my job, not yours.”

The tent flap rustles and I step away quickly. Eavesdropping on her is not my finest moment, and I certainly don’t want to get caught doing it.

I head into the barn and take the first seat that I come to in the back, sitting so fast the chair almost topples over. I take the folded wedding program the usher hands me, and sit straight up in the chair. A few people throw strange looks in my direction, but I don’t care. I’ll never see these people again in my life.

The barn is magically beautiful. Long, white sheer material is hung from the rafters to the walls, creating a circus-like tent structure. There’s a large chandelier in the center with bright Edison bulbs glowing. Both ends of the barn are open to the exterior letting a nice breeze circulate through, which feels great because this part of California can get scorching hot. Either open end lends itself to a gorgeous view of the early evening. The sun has arced over the ranch and is firing the dusk with orange and purple back-lit clouds.

I’ve got to hand it to Isabella, this is simple but elegantly decorated. I know we could do this in the bar, but the true question is, can we get the alcohol and tobacco stench out of it in time.

Organ music starts to play, and the place comes alive with excitement for a brief moment. The groom and his best man walk in with the ceremonial servant, taking their positions at the stage. Within a few minutes, the flower girls and bridesmaids stroll in, beaming big smiles for the photographer. After a short pause, The Wedding March plays and the bride enters to a room with every eye on her, except me.

I look at the groom as he stands there stoic and still. Several emotions flicker across his face, but his smile gives him away. Suddenly I’m thrown back in time twenty years before.

Jim pushes my shoulder hard with his. He leans in and whispers, “You lucky fucking bastard. Just look at her.”

“I know, man. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wonder what the fuck I did to catch her, but whatever it was I’m thankful that I did it,” I reply in a low voice.

The preacher clears his throat several times before mumbling, “Gentlemen...language, please.”

“Yes, sir,” we both reply without hesitating.

I’m spellbound by her and she’s not even in her wedding dress yet. We are on our second walk-through for practice, this time with the music, and all I want to do is say these vows for real, put my ring on her and claim her as mine on our honeymoon. Two days. Two long damn days, and then I get her for two weeks before the racing season starts. Those are going to be the best two weeks of our lives.

She slowly saunters down the aisle, lining each step toe to toe. She’s holding a paper plate of ribbons from her last bridal shower. Her hair sweeps down and slightly covers the smile on her face. She’s watching her feet, making sure she doesn’t trip, but when she looks up at me a small distance away, my heart lurches in my chest at the light and love in her eyes. She’s all mine already, and she knows it, with the saucy wink she throws my way.

Her heel catches on the last step and she tumbles towards me. I catch her in my arms, as her hands brace my forearms. The swift movement of her body engulfs me with her honeysuckle scent. “I’ve got you, babe. I’ll always catch you. I promise,” I whisper in her ear, before letting her go.

She smiles up at me again with my words, as we clasp our hands together and begin practicing our wedding ceremony. I feel her love in the warmth of her hands in mine. It snakes its way to my heart, squeezing it with one of those quick, reassuring embraces that says ‘I love you.’

The weight of a hand on my shoulder brings me back from my memories. Isabella bends low toward my ear and whispers, “Thank you for coming.” Her honeysuckle scent fills my nostrils. Her warm touch radiates down my body, making me hard. Fuck.

I kissed her this morning just to piss her off; to get a rise out of her. I wasn’t prepared for her to respond to my kiss the way she did— the way she melted into me with her scent surrounding me. Suffocating me. Choking me with feelings I never want to feel again. I meant to frustrate and aggravate her, but instead, it only bothered me.

I’ve been a fucking mess all day long. I’ve talked myself out of coming to this wedding, and then back into it five times before I finally got dressed deciding I needed to do this for Aran. She deserves the wedding of her dreams. I deserve exactly what I have. Nothing.

She comes around into the aisle and asks to take the seat next to me on the opposite side. “May I?” I pull in my long legs and allow her to pass by to occupy the seat. Her lean body turns to squeeze past me and the row in front. Her ass is in my face as she passes by, and my hands ball into fists needing restraint. I want to touch her with every ounce of need in my body.

Something tells me she’d let me, but my heart hurts in being here at a wedding. Another thing I always try to avoid. I’ve been successful at it up until these past few years when Jenna and Nick got married. I feel like I’m betraying Olivia, and that pisses me off.

The vows are finishing up and the kiss will come soon declaring them man and wife. Isabella’s legs cross, and her grip on the chair she is sitting in tightens. She’s antsy or anxious, but about what I have no clue. I study her profile. She glances at me sideways and gives me a shy smile. She’s enthralled with the vows being promised. “When the groom says his vows, that’s my favorite part to listen to,” she whispers, tapping my thigh for emphasis of her words. Her fingers linger there while she goes back to listening. The heat of her fingertips on my leg shoots sparks straight to my cock.

“...in sickness and in health, until death do us part,” she whispers as the groom speaks those words. “Never has there ever been more powerful words that will be spoken between a man and a woman. Those words are why I’m a wedding planner.” She looks at me with conviction in her eyes. I believe her in this moment.

Maybe she’s not like my wedding planner who was only in it for the money. When she found out there wouldn’t be a wedding, she actually threw a tantrum. She lost her precious commission, turning her heart cold and dark. She left me to cancel everything in my grief. I didn’t give a fuck about the lost deposits. I’d lost my fiance. My wife in my heart. The mother of my future children. I’d lost my whole life, and it was my fault. I wipe away the tear that starts to fall from the corner of my eye. Yeah, Isabella isn’t like that bitch at all.

“Pardon me,” she says, wanting to cross back out into the aisle before the wedding party approaches. “I have to get back to my wedding duties.” She touches my arm, as I stand to let her pass, and I grab onto her hand, holding her in place.

“Save me a dance later?” I ask, searching her eyes and praying for a positive response. Her warm chocolate brown eyes are dark and mysterious to me. I can’t read them right now.

“It’ll have to be later...much later, after everything winds down and all events are over,” she breathes. “I’m sorry if that’s too late for you to stay.”

“I’ll wait,” I say, and release her hand for her to go. She softly drags it up and across my arm infusing me with her heat just a little longer.

I swear I can feel her hand on my arm two hours later.