“You look like you’re gonna stroke out, man,” said Ben, who stood like a bored government official beside Carly, and currently engaged in one of his thousand-yard stares directed toward Due South. “Settle.”
“Aren’t you the guy who can keep his head through any kitchen drama?” rumbled West under his breath from beside Del.
“This isn’t a kitchen drama,” said Del.
He peeled his lips apart in a yep, I’m having fun smile at Mrs. Taylor, who gave him a little finger wave from the first row of chairs. She’d managed to talk Ford and Harley into giving her a front-row spot because of her walking sticks—though Del suspected the octogenarian would beat him in a footrace since the muscles in his legs were all loosey-goosey.
“And we’ve had enough dramas today already, thanks very…” The last word in Del’s sentence lodged in his throat as movement out front of Due South caught his eye. “There she is. Bloody hell, she looks…”
His throat now in lockdown mode with his sinuses prickling hotly, Del clamped his mouth shut. He didn’t have the words—the adjectives—to describe how beautiful Shaye looked crossing the grassy bank with her arm looped through his father’s. The closest description he could come up with, as Harley helped her down the slight slope of the bank to the sand, was spun sugar. Thin, sparkling in the light, ephemeral. Sweetness that would kiss your tongue and then melt dreamily away.
Music started up from somewhere, and he assumed Zoe and Jade, Shaye’s flowergirls, tossed their white rose petals on the sandy aisle between the seats. Honestly, he couldn’t be sure what music was playing or which bridesmaid walked toward him first. All he could see amidst the flicking candlelight and flowers positioned to mimic the planned church arrangements, was Shaye.
She needn’t have worried about him ruining the surprise of her dress when he’d transported her on the scooter from their house to Rob’s car. His entire focus then had been on making sure she was okay—calm and okay. But now he wasn’t avoiding an obstinate sea lion while concentrating on getting Shaye to safety, he had a moment to appreciate more than just her I’m being brave about this face, which she’d worn earlier.
The gown she’d chosen emphasized his favorite curves and flowed around her legs. Simple, elegant, classic. And although he lacked all the right descriptive adjectives—because, chef…not fashion designer—the image of her in that white dress would remain with him for the rest of his life.
Shaye paused, wobbling two steps along the makeshift aisle. She stopped and, balancing on one foot and then the other, removed her white heels. She crooked her finger at Harley, who, with a grin, took them off her hands.
Something in Del unfurled, spreading warmth throughout his chest. That was his Shaye now—half sophisticated un-touchableness, half goofy and fun and adorable. Now she was perfect for him. Vanilla ice-cream he wanted to lick up while she melted.
His father and Shaye reached the white-gauzy-fabric-draped pergola, and Bill placed Shaye’s hand in Del’s. Never one for mushy words, his dad nodded approval at them both, but the older man’s eyes were suspiciously shiny as he took his seat next to Del and West’s mother, Claire.
Shaye’s grip tightened on his, her fingers squeezing hard enough to crush bone. “We made it,” she whispered. “And this—this is more wonderful than I ever could’ve imagined.”
A breeze picked up off the ocean, and a strand of hair blew across her face.
“We’d better make a start,” Reverend Dave said as another gust made the candles flicker like crazy. He raised his voice. “Kia ora, dearly beloved. As you know, we’re gathered here to marry this fine young couple in God’s own paradise at the end of Aotearoa, but with great beauty comes Stewart Island’s temperamental weather, ay?”
Chuckles from the crowd, as well as the first few spits of rain. Mrs. Taylor’s lilac umbrella popped open.
Reverend Dave didn’t waste any more time but got into the meat of the ceremony—for which Del was eternally grateful. After waiting for so many months, he wanted his ring on Shaye’s finger, pronto.
“Shaye and Del have written their own vows to each other…”
A few more umbrellas popped up throughout the crowd.
“So I ask you both to speak your words of aroha before the heavens open.”
Shaye passed her bouquet to Piper and slipped both her hands into Del’s. “Traditionally, the man is supposed to say his vows first.” Shaye’s mouth curved into a cheeky smile. “But as your sous chef, my job is to make your life easier, so how about I go first?”
“Please,” Del said, because, hell, he was sure his voice would wobble uncontrollably when it came to his turn.
“Delmar William Westlake, I promise to be your lifelong partner in and out of the kitchen. I promise to support you, to love you, to challenge you, and cover for you when you burn table five’s T-bone because you stopped to give me yet another kiss in the pantry. I love you, Hollywood, and to hell with the death-do-us-part part—I’ve never been good at letting things go, so you’re stuck with me throughout eternity.”
Spots of rain pinged off Del’s scalp, but they weren’t cold enough to douse the fire burning a hole through his belly. Who knew love could burn hot enough to leave a permanent sear mark across his heart, yet at the same time was so comfortably right, that holding Shaye’s hand today and every day would feel like sliding into a warm bath?
“Del, mate? You wanna add something to the conversation?” Barely restrained humor wove through Reverend Dave’s voice.
How long had Del been staring into Shaye’s eyes—her irises bright green as they were only when she was at her most vulnerable, most emotional.
“Sorry,” he croaked and then cleared his throat. Don’t screw this up, he ordered himself. Don’t screw this… “Shaye, ah…um…” Del’s mind blanked. Holy shit, her middle name was gone. Like, sucked completely out of his head and flung out into the harbor.
“Nobody tell him,” Shaye said when Piper leaned forward, her hand cupped over her mouth. Those green eyes gleamed at him with the devilishness of a kitten who spots a dangling length of string.
“So much for having my back, sweetheart.”
“Relax and go with the flow, baby. Isn’t that what you’ve been telling me for weeks?”
When she continued to smile at him, he laughed and tried again. “Shaye Cupcake Harland—”
A whoop of approval erupted from the crowd.
“—I completely lost my mind seeing you walk down that aisle, so that’s my excuse, and I’m sticking to it.”
She squeezed his fingers again.
“I promise to care for you, love you, listen to you when you tell me there’s too much coriander in the soup, hold you up when you’re feeling weak and accept your strength in times when mine starts to fade. Baby, you’re the Italian sauce to my meatballs, the chilli to my con-carne, the frosting to my cupcakes. You’re my salt, and if I have it my way, we’ll season each other for the rest of our lives.”
A tear slipped over Shaye’s lashes. “That’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard,” she said. “I couldn’t love you more.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd, followed by the rustling sounds of opening umbrellas and the odd ping of rain spits hitting the pergola.
“Moving on to the rings,” Reverend Dave said, casting a suspicious squint up at the sky.
West stepped forward and handed over the two gold bands. While more and more umbrellas opened—including West stepping forward to direct the new blue one above Del and Shaye’s head—they parroted the reverend’s “With this ring” litany.
“Normally, I’d say a few words about love and marriage and making it last for a lifetime,” said Reverend Dave. He lifted his spread palms toward the sky, “But just like we depend on the rain to keep Rakiura green and healthy, Del and Shaye will depend on us as their friends and family to support them and love them unconditionally. So without any further chin-wagging, I’d like to pronounce you man and wife. Del, do us pro
ud mate, and kiss your bride.”
Del didn’t need any encouragement. Under the big blue umbrella, Del gathered Shaye into his arms and kissed her until he couldn’t remember his own middle name.
***
“We can just shuffle, babe,” Shaye whispered as she and Del stood up from the bridal table, ready to walk to the dance floor. “Forget all that fancy stuff; we don’t need it.”
Del squeezed her hand, his blue eyes gleaming in the flickering light from the many candles situated around the community center hall. “The single-guy shuffling sway, right. Gotcha.”
Outside, heavy rain pummelled the windows, a steady pattering that couldn’t drown out the thunder of her heartbeat.
The short shower had tapered off after the ceremony, long enough for Bree to take their photographs, and for volunteers to pack away everything on the beach before worse weather hit. And the weather had hit—five minutes after the wedding party arrived at the reception, torrential rain pelted down. It lashed against the windows but made the beautifully decorated hall appear even more cosy and welcoming.
So while the weather wasn’t on-board with all of Shaye’s anal planning, the dinner prepared by Sebastian Clark and his two hired line chefs was delicious, the speeches were funny, emotional, and not too embarrassing, and Shaye and Erin’s frosted wedding cupcakes were a hit.
Now it was time for the bride and groom’s first dance. Ulp.
Shaye slanted Del another look, as—with applause and whistles resounding in their ears—Del guided her around the bridal table to the dance floor. She extended her arm and let Del lead her in a small circle, finishing with a little twirl, which Mr. and Mrs. Randal called the Look at the Beautiful Bride entrance. Practically the only dance moves Del had mastered.
“Smile, Mrs. Westlake,” Del teased. “This is your wedding dance, not a funeral march.”
Had she been frowning? Shaye stretched her mouth, ensuring her lips were tilted up instead of down. She met Del’s bright-blue gaze, and her heart melted. This was only one dance in the many times during their life together when they’d hit the dance floor, and if he mucked up a few steps, she couldn’t care less. She would be dancing with her gorgeous, sexy-as-hell husband.
“Not too late to switch to the Chicken Dance,” she whispered.
Del took her right hand, and she slid her other onto his shoulder.
“Hush,” he whispered back. “Let me concentrate on counting steps.”
The first notes of “Thinking Out Loud” filtered through the sound system, and Shaye sucked in a deep breath—readying her reflexes to jerk her toes out of the way if Del’s body-weight shifted in the wrong direction.
With a wicked grin that curled said toes in her white satin shoes, Del gently squeezed her waist and then executed a perfect basic box step. Her eyes popped wide, and her jaw sagged.
Holy-freaking-guacamole-with-a-side-of-salsa!
“What the hell?” she said when they’d run through the first repeat of the dance moves.
“Extra lessons.”
He brushed a quick kiss on her mouth, and the crowd roared approval.
“With the Randals, Mum and Dad, and even bloody West. Worth it huh?” he asked.
He sent her into another couple of spins, finishing up with a dip, which really set her brain twirling. With the candlelight, applause, and Del’s handsome face grinning down at her, Shaye stopped worrying that her new husband had been possessed by the late Patrick Swayze. And as another song started to play, and their family and friends swarmed onto the dance floor, Shaye let go.
Let go of worries of whether her train would come unhitched from the bustle at the back of her dress.
Let go of her All Things Nuptials plans and the journal that was probably covered in sea lion slime.
Let go of her concerns that things wouldn’t be perfect between her and Del, and instead allowed joy to fill every part of her heart.
Piper and West sashayed past them, West giving his brother a thumbs up. Ben and Kezia were wrapped up in each other close-by, Ben looking down at his wife with total adoration. Her brother and sister were so in love with their spouses it would’ve been sickening if Shaye wasn’t so freaking happy for them.
Behind Del, Laurie led Glenna onto the dance floor. Shaye caught her mother’s eye, the love with a hint of sadness in them giving Shaye another little heart squeeze, and she closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the photo she’d seen of her parents during their wedding dance. So in love, so excited for their future, so unknowing of the years of love and grief to come.
“Hey…” Del pulled her even closer, until they were pressed belly to belly and doing the single-man-sway. “You okay?”
“I’m better than okay,” she said.
“You’re perfect, then, huh?”
“No,” she said with a smile. “Not perfect. Just madly in love with you and eager to start our life together.”
Del chuckled, a low, deliciously sexy sound that had Shaye rising on tip-toes to plant a kiss on the man who stole her breath away.
Their life wouldn’t be perfect, but it would be real. A mixture of laughter, joy, sorrow, crazy food fights and love.
Most of all, love.
###
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Maori Glossary
These are simplified for the sake of brevity.
whānau – family
Aotearoa – Translates to: Land of the long white cloud. The Maori name for New Zealand
kia ora – greeting
aroha – love
Rakiura – Maori name for Stewart Island
More from this Author
The Stewart Island series focuses on family, community, and of course, each book contains a scorching hot romance.
Other books in the series:
Book 1: In Too Deep (Piper & West)
Book 2: Melting Into You (Kezia & Ben)
Book 3: Ready To Burn (Shaye & Del)
Book 4: Christmas With You (Carly & Kip)
Book 5: My Forever Valentine (Short Stories)
Book 6: Playing For Fun (Holly & Ford)
Book 7: Drawing Me In (Bree & Harley)
Book 7.5: Kissing The Bride (Shaye & Del Short Story)
Book 8: Saying I Do (MacKenna & Joe)
Saying I Do (Stewart Island Book 8)
Marriage and happily-ever-after are for suckers…
Joe Whelan was fooled once on the way to the altar, and the Irish doctor isn’t about to be an eejit over a woman again. Especially not one who witnessed his broken-hearted humiliation years ago. He won’t be swayed by the sparks that fly whenever his eyes meet MacKenna’s or distracted by her sweet kisses. The only thing Joe cares about is preventing his sister from making the biggest marital mistake of her life.
MacKenna Jones loves a good wedding—so long as she’s sewing the bride’s gown, not walking down the aisle herself. Falling for Joe Whelan’s sexy bedside manner wasn’t on the cards, neither was a seven-day road trip with him to Las Vegas, the Marriage Capital of the World. When the stakes are so high, will these two gun-shy cynics ever say I Do?
Turn the page to read a free excerpt of
Saying I Do
Excerpt of Saying I Do (Stewart Island Book 8)
&n
bsp; Chapter 1
The irony of a woman who dealt with bridal dramas every week but would rather stab herself in the eye with dressmaking shears than say “I do,” didn’t escape MacKenna Jones. Instead, the thought settled as a low, icky feeling in her gut as she stood in Oban’s community hall surrounded by meters of crepe-paper streamers and balloons. Oh, and let’s not forget the centerpiece cake, which was meant to be wrench-shaped—since her cousin Holly was marrying a mechanic—but instead, disturbingly, looked like a giant, gray-frosted penis. Only on Stewart Island, New Zealand’s third biggest island and unregistered insane asylum, would a penis-shaped cake be considered par for the course at a bridal shower.
Mac rolled her eyes so hard they almost stuck in her upswept bundle of dirty-blond hair, piled high on the top of her head to give the illusion of another two inches of height. And if the hair didn’t make her look taller than her God-given five-foot-three-and-a-sneeze, the spiked heels would level the playing field since Holly and her friends all towered over her like a tribe of Amazonian warriors.
“Having a good time, dear?”
Mac’s eyeballs returned to a horizontal position to find Mrs. Taylor peering at her, her powdery-purple eyelids narrowing in concern.
“I’m having a great time,” Mac said. “I’m so happy for Holly and Ford.”
And she was. Truly, honestly, absolutely happy that her younger cousin was marrying her man in two months’ time.
“Hope you’ve left some room for Denise’s delicious cake.” Mrs. Taylor lowered her voice and leaned into Mac, cupping a wrinkled hand to her mouth. “I expect Denise’ll be a better mother-in-law than she is a baker. That cake looks like a fella’s twig and berries.”
Kissing The Bride Page 6
