The Parent Playbook (Love on Thin Ice)

27. Epilogue - Angel

H appy Horizons has scrubbed up better than one of Scotty’s hockey jerseys after a playoff game. Seriously, if you squint right, the old barn looks almost like a fairytale setting instead of a place that usually smells of goat, pony, and hay.

And thank goodness, since today is our wedding.

Today, it’s all about white drapes billowing softly in the summer breeze, floral arrangements bursting with colors so vivid they’d rival the autumn leaves for the most beautiful colors of the year, and strings of baby’s breath hanging like stars that decided to take a vacation and hang out over Maple Falls for a day.

Edgar, my constantly cunning goat, is suspiciously behaving himself. He’s got a garland of flowers around his neck, looking like a four-legged contestant in a beauty pageant, munching contentedly on some especially lush grass we’ve put down as a bribe to keep him from head-butting the guests. Every now and then, he lifts his head, chews thoughtfully, and seems to consider the merits of chaos before deciding the grass is greener—or tastier—right where he is.

The chairs are set up in neat rows, each one adorned with a sash that flutters whenever the wind picks up, a rhythmic dance to a silent tune. At the end of the aisle, an archway stands draped in more flowers and greenery, looking like something out of A Midsummer Night’s Dream , if Shakespeare had been into rural chic aesthetics and hockey-themed weddings.

Harlow bursts through the door, her eyes wide with excitement and a hint of nerves. “Angel, are you ready?” she asks, pausing to catch her breath, her gaze sweeping over me. “Wow, you look … you look stunning!”

I give her a quick twirl, showing off the simple yet elegant dress I chose, nothing too fancy because that just isn’t me. My hair’s curled softly, falling over my shoulders, with a crown of wildflowers that Edgar tried to eat earlier.

“Thanks, cuz,” I say, grinning. “If I don’t trip down the aisle, I’ll be the happiest bride in town.”

“We’re all set, Mom,” Andy says as he straightens his vest. “Lily’s got the petals, and I’ve got the rings ready for their special delivery.”

“Special delivery?” I ask.

Lily elbows Andy in the ribs. “He means to go down the aisle.”

Just then, Troy appears at the doorway, his usual confident stride slowing as he takes in my appearance. “Is it time for the show to start?” he jokes, then his voice softens, “Angel, you look breathtaking.”

I roll my eyes but can’t hide the blush. “Keep it up, Troy, and I might just make you sing a solo at the reception.”

As if on cue, the first notes of “Wedding March” fill the air, strung along by a local quartet. I peek outside; the ranch has been transformed into a wonderland of flowers and soft lights, the aisles lined with our friends and family—and yes, even some curious barnyard onlookers.

Lily, clutching Andy’s arm, leads the way down the aisle, a vision of youthful excitement. Following them is Harlow, her smile bright enough to rival the sun, which it’s been ever since she and Ted realized their friendship was true love .

Finally, I take Troy’s arm, stepping out onto the porch. Each step echoes a beat of my heart, pulsing with the memories of every twist that led here—from accidental insults at posh hotels to barnyard proposals. “I can’t believe this day’s finally here,” I whisper, mostly to myself but loud enough for Troy to hear.

“Believe it, Angel. You deserve every bit of happiness,” Troy replies, giving my arm a reassuring squeeze.

All the Ice Breaker guys are there, which makes me laugh. If anyone had told me all that time ago in the Regent’s that one day not only would a hockey team attend my wedding, but I’d be marrying one of them, I would have called them old-goat-crazy.

But here I am.

As we approach Scotty, waiting at the makeshift altar by the old oak tree, my heart isn’t just racing—it’s soaring, diving, and doing loops, much like my life since meeting him. And as I look into his eyes, everything else fades—the crowd, the decorations, even the faint bleats of Edgar trying to snag another flower.

“You look—” Scotty doesn’t finish, a tear cresting in his eye.

A bleat catches our attention just then, and we turn to see Edgar, who’s trotting down the aisle with a golden box hanging around his neck. He’s sauntering like it’s the best day of his life as our guests giggle and applaud his show.

But I know my goat.

Just as he reaches the altar, he makes a dart to the right, taking off at full speed.

“Let’s get that goat!” Scotty calls, taking me by the hand. I’m running and laughing right alongside him.

That’s exactly how this marriage was destined to begin—me and Scotty, about to start the best game of our lives.