That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe (Abieville Love Stories #4)

57. Epilogue

ONE YEAR LATER

Three

I’m pacing around outside yet another door—waiting for Sara—again. Except this time, my heart’s so packed with happiness, I feel like all four chambers are about to burst. The thing is, Sara’s bladder felt the same way. That’s why she’s in the bathroom now with Nella and Bristol.

They’re helping her pee.

Apparently that’s hard to do in a wedding dress.

The brand-new Mrs. Fuller and I have been married just long enough to take pictures outside the church, then caravan over to the reception along with the rest of the wedding party. Doing the math, that means we took our vows about an hour ago, but I feel like I’ve loved this woman forever.

It took us a decade, but everything worked out. Sara and I are right where we’re supposed to be.

Minus the bathroom wall.

In the lobby, enormous double doors open, sending a gust of wintery air toward the registration desk. The entrance is dripping with colored lights. Christmas music spills across the way. I’m in the hall that separates the rest of the inn from the Tavern. Our guests are already inside the main room waiting for us to start the reception.

According to the seating chart my bride labored over, our groomsmen—Mac, Brady, and Kenny—are at Table Two with their wives. Ford was with them, last time I checked, with an empty chair reserved for Bristol beside him. She’s the maid of honor. Ford’s my best man. They’ve been eyeing each other since she got to Abieville.

Not that it matters, but Sara and I approve.

“There you are!” My mother slips through the Tavern door and joins me in the hallway. “Where’s my beautiful daughter-in-law?” She picks a bit of dust off my coat and adjusts the red rose in my lapel. “Everybody’s waiting for the DJ to introduce the happy couple.”

Everybody.

Man, I love the that word. I love the people. Almost as much as I adore my bride.

“We’ll be in soon. Sara just needed a minute.” I nod at the bathroom, and bite back a laugh at the thought of a single wedding dress requiring three people to navigate. “How are things going at Table One?”

“Oh, just lovely.” My mother’s smile is warm, if a little on the crooked side. “The Hathaways have been telling everyone the Christmas tree here at the inn rivals the one in Rockefeller Plaza.”

I cock a brow. “They actually said that?”

“They did.” My mother shrugs. “I think they might be exaggerating. But they do mean well.”

“Yeah, they do,” I say. And I really believe that.

“Katherine also filled us in on the many, many preparations for this year’s big Hathaway Gala.” My mom smooths her hands down her floor-length dress. “She also said this would be perfect for the occasion.”

“She’s right, Mom. You look beautiful.”

“Well.” She presses a hand to her cheek. “ Thank you, but today’s not about me. And the gala isn’t either. Speaking of which, I’m glad they pushed the date until after your honeymoon.”

“Yeah. Me too.” I bob my head. “There’s talk about moving the event permanently, so Christmas Eve and Sara’s birthday can be separate from the fundraiser, but that’s a big ship to steer into a new direction.”

“Either way, it’s a wonderful cause, and we’ll be thrilled to attend.” Her nose twitches. “Well, I’ll be thrilled. Your father’s not so sure he wants to put on a tux again.”

This pulls a laugh out of me. “Tell Dad he’s gotta get some use out of that thing until Nella and Carver finally get their act together and get married.”

My mother squawks, then lowers her voice. “From your lips to God’s ears.”

Just then, the bathroom door flies open, and Nella and Bristol scurry out into the hall. They’ve got their hair up in matching twists, and their satin dresses shine.

“Everything all right in there, ladies?” I peek over their heads as the door slowly shuts behind them. “With the dress … and … the rest of it?”

“Sara’s coming,” Nella says. “She just has to reapply her lipstick.”

“Yeah.” Bristol snorts. “ Someone keeps kissing it off.”

We all chuckle at this, but the way Bristol and Ford have been getting along, I get the feeling she might be losing some lipstick herself tonight.

I’ll never tell.

“Oh!” My mother flutters her hands in my direction. “That reminds me. I’m supposed to let you know the florist hung some mistletoe over the dance floor. Everyone’s expecting you to kiss during the first song.”

“Thanks for the heads-up.” I wag my eyebrows. “I’ll be sure to warn Sara.”

“Want us to wait for you two before we go in?” Nella asks .

“Nah. You all go ahead,” I say. “I want to be alone with my wife for a moment.”

They disappear into the Tavern at the same time Sara floats out into the hallway. She’s a vision in white—all silk and seed pearls and smiles—plus the leather cuff that matches the one I never take off. I may never get over the sight of her. Or the fact that we finally belong to each other.

“Hey there, husband .” She draws the word out like she’s savoring it. “Sorry about that little pit stop.”

I tug her into my arms. “And I’m sorry about your lipstick.”

“What about my lipstick?”

“I’m about to mess it up.”

“Wait!” She throws a hand up between us and presses her palm against my chest, but she can’t stop laughing and her eyes are all lit up.

So I pull her even closer. “I think we’ve waited long enough.”

“Be gentle with me,” she whispers.

I cup her chin lifting her face to mine. “Your wish is my command.” Then, with all the love in my bursting heart, I tenderly kiss the bride.

Her lips are sweetness and spice. Fire and ice. Sara’s every color on the spectrum. And since I already know there’s mistletoe above the dance floor, I want this kiss to be just for us.

When we finally break away to catch our breath, I couldn’t care less that my mouth is smeared with some shade of lipstick called apple or chimney or cherry Chapstick .

“Hold on.” Sara studies my face, then draws her thumb across my lips, but her gentle touch accomplishes less cleaning of lipstick and more … caressing of my mouth. “I adore this mess,” she tells me softly.

A low groan sounds in the back of my throat. “If we don’t get into that reception now,” I tell her, “I may just throw you over my shoulder and take you home.”

Heat flickers behind her eyes. “I may not mind.”

“Don’t tempt me, wife,” I growl.

“Hmm.” Her lips slip into a mock pout. “My parents did pay a lot to rent this place out, though.”

“They did.”

She draws her lip under her teeth. “And I suppose you’re worth the wait.”

“So are you.” The words come out gruff, choked with emotion. Quite frankly, I’d wait for this woman forever.

So I slide my hand into hers, and together we head into the reception to greet our guests. When we enter, the DJ’s playing some old classic love song. I think it’s Frank Sinatra. As soon as he spots us, he plucks up his microphone. “Friends and family of the bride and groom,” he announces. “Please help me give a big round of applause for the newly minted Mr. and Mrs. Fuller!”

The crowd goes wild, hooting and hollering, and clapping their brains out. But instead of moving directly onto the dance floor, I lead Sara over to the DJ platform and reach for the microphone myself. The DJ grins and passes it to me, lowering the music. I take a deep breath, and survey the room full of beaming faces. Our wedding guests. Everyone I care about on earth gathered in one place.

For us.

“Hello, there!” I boom into the mic, then I yank it away and lower my voice to avoid any screeching feedback. “Today I stand before you as the happiest man who’s ever lived.” My voice cracks a little, and I shift my weight. “That’s thanks in part to all of you, but especially thanks to her.” I clutch Sara’s hand and hold it up high, grinning like a total fool. “Ladies and gentlemen.” I turn and bow to her. “My wife.”

Everybody cheers, and the DJ starts playing, “All I Want For Christmas is You.”

Truer words never belted out, Mariah.

I don’t want anything but Sara.

As I guide her onto the dance floor, I’ve never felt more complete. More hopeful. More at home. And when we launch into the choreography she talked me into learning, I don’t even care that I’ve never looked more ridiculous. I’ve also never been more in love.

Midway through the song, a low murmur starts among the guests, eventually building to a chant.

“Mistletoe! Mistletoe! Mistletoe!”

Of course.

How could I forget we’re dancing directly under the mistletoe? And apparently the crowd demands I do something about it. So I glance at Sara and a bright smile breaks across her face. She stops mid-step, twirling toward me until she lands securely my arms.

“Hi, husband,” she chirps.

“Hello there, wife.” With one palm planted firmly at her back, I drop her into a dip. Then I drop a kiss onto the sweetest lips in history.

This moment is everything I ever dreamed of, and barely hoped someday would come true. I started life out with a pretty full heart.

Then Sara Hathaway made it fuller.

The End.