Chapter 3: The Wedding Game

The morning of my wedding, the whole house buzzed with excitement. The air smelled like hairspray and fresh biscuits, and every time someone opened the door, a gust of humid Southern air swept in.

The Stanton family’s stretch limo—long, white, decked in ribbons—pulled up to our gate. Neighbors lined their porches, coffee mugs in hand, dressed up like it was Sunday service.

Mr. Foster, Dad’s old friend and neighbor, brought his three boys to block the door and make things lively. The Foster boys had always looked out for us, sneaking us cookies or giving us rides on their bikes.

I’d just finished getting ready when their voices boomed from the front door.

"Hey, the groom’s here!"

"Want to fetch the bride? Solve our riddles first!"

I worried Henry wouldn’t be able to answer, but to my shock, he got them all in under fifteen minutes. When one of the Fosters asked, "What has keys but can’t open locks?" Henry grinned and said, "A piano, just like the one in your mama’s parlor." The boys cracked up, and I caught a flicker of something sharp and playful in Henry’s eyes.

Grandma Carol pinned my veil, teary-eyed. "Seems the groom’s got more sense than folks say."

I squeezed her hand. "Don’t worry, Grandma. I’ll come back to visit."

My voice trembled, and she brushed a tear from my cheek.

"Babe, I’m here to get you!" Henry’s voice rang out, eager and sweet, making my heart twist with hope and fear.

Grandma put my hand in his and told him, "My Aubrey’s never been hurt at home. You’d best treat her right, or I’ll come after you—even from the grave!"

Henry beamed, squeezing my hand. "Don’t worry, Grandma Carter. I’ll treat my wife real good."

She let us go, but I could hear my sister sobbing behind me, with Rusty whimpering at her feet. I blinked back tears, one splashing onto Henry’s hand. He stiffened, then whispered, "Don’t cry, babe. My house has a big yard. If you get homesick, I’ll bring you back to visit."

His words made me laugh through my tears.

Once inside the limo, I couldn’t stop crying. Suddenly, the window rolled down and Henry appeared, holding Rusty in his arms and grinning like a kid. "Babe, your sister can’t come, but Rusty can."

He handed Rusty to me, and I couldn’t help but laugh. Of all the girls in Maple Heights, I was probably the only bride to bring her dog to her wedding.

I leaned my cheek into Rusty’s fur, the bouquet petals fluttering beside me, and felt—for the first time—like maybe I wouldn’t be so alone in this new chapter.