My grandmother had suggested that Kiera and I hold our intimate wedding at her house, but both of us had agreed this was the perfect place for it.
The hotel was where our second chance for a new start had begun, where our son was conceived.
The son currently content in my mother’s arms.
Dad sat on one side of her, making goofy faces at his grandson. My nine-month-old son giggled at him.
Stephen’s mother was sitting on the other side, laughing at something Mom had just told her.
“Definitely ready,” I told Travis, my best man.
The two of us, along with Eli, my groomsman, wore light-sage-green suits and ties for the low-key event. Ideal for the daytime wedding. They also perfectly complemented the mountains and pine trees overlooking us.
“It’s not too late to change your mind,” Eli said on a chuckle.
I threw him a look that said that wasn’t going to happen. It might have taken Kiera and me quite the journey to get to this moment, starting from the first time I sat next to her in our geology class, but there was no other place I would rather be than here. Now.
We’d done a lot of talking since we’d gotten engaged about everything when it came to making sure our marriage worked. And this included details of what would happen if I were traded to another team.
I had no doubts whatsoever our marriage would last and be a happy one.
Eli laughed again. “Yeah, I didn’t think that was the case.”
Stacy stepped onto the patio, her baby daughter in her arms. She walked down the aisle to where we were standing with Tony, Kiera’s and my officiant for the ceremony.
If someone had told me two years ago I would one day be marrying the woman whose wedding I’d been the best man for, and my ex-wife’s husband would be the one marrying us, I would’ve wondered what drugs they’d inhaled.
But now, I couldn’t imagine it any other way.
“They’re ready,” Stacy said, smiling at Tony and me. She gave me a quick hug while keeping her drooling daughter away from my suit. “I’d say good luck, but you really don’t need it. You’ve totally got this.”
She wasn’t talking about the wedding. That was the easy part.
She was talking about what came after that.
After the honeymoon.
But she was right. I did have this. It wouldn’t be easy. But the best things in life never were.
Easy was boring.
Hard—that was what made things worthwhile. It didn’t matter if it was the Stanley Cup or falling in love. The harder the work to achieve them, the greater the prize.
And for me, Kiera was definitely the best prize of them all.
Stacy gave Tony a brief kiss, nodded at the cellist, and sat in the front row with my parents, Stephen’s parents, and my son.
The classical music began to play, and a moment later, Livi walked down the aisle, toward me. Her white dress was simple with a dusty-rose sash.
Did I really know the difference between dusty-rose from regular rose?
Nope. Livi had excitedly shown me her dress (because that wasn’t bad luck) and explained the color’s name.
Grinning broadly, she continued to the end of the aisle and flashed me a comical thumbs-up with the hand not holding a small bouquet of flowers.
I returned the gesture, which resulted in chuckles from those who noticed.
She sat next to Stacy.
Ava was the next to walk down the aisle and take her place at the altar. Her two-year-old daughter called out, “Hi, Mommy,” and waved at her. Ava waved back to her daughter and baby son, who was asleep in his father’s arms.
Chloe, Kiera’s maid of honor, came after her.
And then the moment I’d been waiting for…
The music changed, and the guests stood.
My heart slammed against my ribs to the slow rhythm of the song as Kiera stepped onto the patio, her father at her side.
She’d been beautiful the day of her first wedding, in her long white gown. This time she was beyond breathtaking.
Our first weddings had been what some would call fairy-tale events—this time we’d chosen to keep things simpler, more casual.
Her effect on me? It was anything but that.
Her off-white, lacy dress brushed just above her knees and dipped low enough to reveal my favorite cleavage. The short, barely-there sleeves were pure lace. Her hair hung loosely around her shoulders and blew slightly around her face in the warm June breeze.
The sun shone down on her, turning her blonde hair into a halo as she approached me. Everything about her resembled an angel.
A fucking gorgeous angel.
A chorus of sniffling came from our mothers’ direction, but I was too busy staring at the woman who was soon to be my wife to check which of the trio was crying.
I had a feeling, though, it was all three of them—including Judith.
Kiera had shared with me a few months ago the love note Stephen had given her. In it, he’d told her that he wanted to be the star in the sky that granted all her wishes.
So it was only fitting that the brightest star in the sky—the sun—was shining down on us.
Granting Kiera’s and my greatest wish.
Kiera stopped in front of me and beamed at me, her dimples on full display.
Tony nodded for everyone to take their seats, and the music faded away.
“Who’s giving away the bride?” he asked.
“Her mother and I are,” her father replied.
More sniffling from the three smiling mothers.
Her father left to join them and their husbands.
It turned out that Tony wasn’t just a great husband and stepfather—he was also one helluva wedding officiant.
Things went smoothly, and then we got to our vows.
“Kiera and Logan have written their own vows.” He nodded for me to go first.
Travis passed me Kiera’s wedding band, and I took her hand in mine. “Kiera, from the first time I saw you in our geology class, I knew I wanted to be your friend. But you gave me so much more than just friendship. You gave me the stars and the moon, not to mention our beautiful son.” I indicated with a nod at Daniel, who was contently watching us as if he knew this was a big moment in all of our lives. “And now I want to be your everything. To grow old with you. To be your today and your tomorrow. To be your forever. Do you, Kiera Claire Ashdown, take me to be your husband?”
She smiled at me, and my heart couldn’t help but soar. “I do.”
I slipped the ring onto her finger.
Chloe handed her the other wedding band. “Logan, from the first moment you sat next to me in class, I have cherished our friendship. Our path to ending up together wasn’t typical, but I wouldn’t change it in any way. You are my best friend, my love, my world. You are my sun on good days and the bad. I want to grow old with you, for us to build sandcastles together, and for me to always be there for you, loving you, worshiping you. Logan Grayson Mathews, would you do me the honor of being my husband?”
I grinned at her. “You better believe I do.”
How I kept from sweeping her into my arms and kissing her was beyond me. But I’d be patient…for now.
But as soon as we could sneak away and be on our own for a short time, I’d kiss her the way I wanted to and make love to her.
Guaranteed.
Kiera slipped the ring onto my finger.
I didn’t wait for Tony to announce, “By the power vested in me…” My lips were already on hers.
I did, though, manage to keep the kiss PG-rated for the benefit of the guests and young kids.
When it came to my restraint in the kissing department, I deserved a trophy worthy of a Stanley Cup.
The guests laughed as Tony said the line of the ceremony I had ignored in my need to kiss my beautiful wife.
But the best part of that?
It meant I got to kiss her again.
This time the guests cheered our union.
&
nbsp; I rested my forehead against Kiera’s. “Are you ready to begin the rest of our life together?”
That beautiful smile of hers? It became that much brighter.
Thank you for reading DECIDEDLY WITH LUCK!
Want to find out what happens when Nala agrees to be Eli’s fake girlfriend for his cousin’s wedding? Check out DECIDEDLY WITH WISHES.
Bucket List Rule #1:
be careful who finds your list.
Oops.
The book releases June 29th, 2021. Pre-order now!
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Check out SPYING UNDER THE MISTLETOE, the second book in the LOVE UNDERCOVER romantic suspense/romantic comedy series.
She’s a former mafia princess. He’s been hired to track down her family secret…
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SPYING UNDER THE MISTLETOE…
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Read on for an excerpt from Spying Under the Mistletoe
Life is sometimes nothing but a series of mistakes.
Mistakes that leave you wondering a few hours later what the hell you were thinking.
Mistakes that seem like a brilliant idea at the time.
“Ooh, coffee,” my latest mistake says, walking into the kitchen, wearing nothing but a hockey jersey. My hockey jersey, which was hanging in my closet until a few minutes ago.
“I’m going to need that soon.” I nod at the item of clothing.
The blonde, whose name I can’t quite remember, sidles up to me. I met her at the bar Adam, Connor, and I went to last night. I hadn’t gone there to get laid, but here I am, with a strange woman in my town house.
“I didn’t know you play hockey,” she says with a seductive purr. It was a turn-on last night. Now, not so much. “I loooove hockey.”
Something about the way she says this hints that it’s not entirely true. I recognize the look in her eyes from my days in junior hockey.
She’s not a real fan of the game. Hooking up with hockey players is her sport of choice.
I’d dealt with a few of those in my past, back before I realized I’d never be good enough to play in the NHL.
I give her a single nod—because there isn’t anything more to say on the subject. She’s just reminding me why I don’t typically bring one-night stands to my place.
Not that one-night stands are a habit of mine these days.
Blondie is one of those rare occasions.
She doesn’t get the hint and leans against the granite kitchen counter. “Can I have some, please?” Her gaze drops to the mug in my hand, and I stiffen.
But while I’m not exactly happy she’s still here, I’m not going to be an asshole and kick her out of my home.
Yet.
If she decides to overstay her welcome, I’ll politely ask her to leave.
I remove a mug from the kitchen cabinet, fill it partway, and hand it to her.
“Thanks.” She takes a sip and pouts at me. “You’ve already showered?” she says, stating the obvious. My hair’s still damp.
My goal had been for her to wake up while I was in the shower and be the kind of woman who bails while the guy’s preoccupied.
Instead, she slept the entire time and only woke up when the coffee had finished brewing.
“I was hoping we could shower…together.” She flashes me a look that reminds me of Mojo—my colleague’s Bernese mountain dog—whenever he sees his favorite treat.
Then she winks at me…which lasts an incredibly long time. Like her eye has frozen shut. “Oh, darn it. My false eyelashes are stuck together. Can you help me, Landon?”
Sorry, sweetheart, you’re on your own.
Before I can voice that out loud, “Hit Me with Your Best Shot” plays from my phone on the kitchen table.
Saved by Pat Benatar.
“Sorry, I have to take this.” I don’t suppose you’ll be gone by the time I return.…
I pick up my phone and head upstairs to my office.
Inside, I close the door behind me. “What’s up?” I ask Liam. My boss.
The owner of Quade Security and Investigations.
My former brother in arms.
Liam doesn’t call the team on a Sunday unless it’s super important. He’s a family man through and through—especially since his daughter was born over a year ago.
Cassie and his wife, Ava, are his world.
“I need you to come into the office this morning. I’m calling the entire team in.”
“I’d ask what this is about, but now’s not a good time for me to talk.” I have no idea if Blondie’s the curious type—if snooping gets her off. “As soon as I get some baggage out of my house, I’ll be there.”
Liam has been my friend for too long to miss the hidden meaning between the words. “You know, if you found a nice woman to settle down with, the overstaying-their-welcome baggage wouldn’t be a problem.”
“You sound like my mother.”
“Your mom is a wise woman.”
We end the call, and I head downstairs. Blondie is still in the kitchen, in my hockey jersey, coffee mug in hand, in no particular rush to leave. Her eyelashes are no longer stuck together.
“I have to go to work now,” I tell her, hoping she gets the hint this time.
She frowns, her pout resembling that of a toddler denied a cookie more than it resembles the pout of a supermodel selling sexy lingerie. “Work? But it’s Sunday.”
I shrug because it is what it is.
“You never did tell me what you do for a living.” She sips on her coffee.
“I’m a janitor. The usual weekend guy called in sick.”
Rule #1 when it comes to hookups: Never tell them my real job.
Even if I don’t mention the off-the-website part of the job—the part involving secret government contracts—telling women I work for a security and investigation company leaves them with all kinds of alpha-hero fantasies.
It makes me, in their eyes, more desirable, more exciting, than someone who cleans an office building for a living.
The frown between Blondie’s eyebrows returns. “This is a really nice place for a janitor.”
I don’t dignify her comment with a reply.
Fortunately, she finally gets the hint, puts the mug on the counter, and heads upstairs to hopefully get changed. She returns a few minutes later in the dress she was wearing last night. Her hair is no longer messy.
“I had fun last night,” she says, batting her eyelashes at me. They miraculously don’t stick together this time. “I would love to see you again. Maybe we could catch a movie and dinner later this week?”
Her tone is not of someone hoping to be a booty call. It’s more along the lines of wanting something I can’t give—my heart.
Or what’s left of it.
No, a woman didn’t cheat on me or do me wrong. Just the opposite. My post-college girlfriend was the love of my life. I was positive she was it—the woman I would one day marry.
At least that had been my plan until she went out with friends. The next time I saw her, she was in a coma and on life support.
Her parents removed her from it a month later.
After that, I joined the military. And on more than one occasion witnessed a brother die—and each time, like with my girlfriend, I was unable to do anything about it.
“Sorry,” I tell Blondie, “but I told you last night it was a one-time-only deal. That hasn’t changed.”
She shrugs, the disappointment on her face nothing more than a flicker. A minute later, the front door clicks shut behind her.
I grab my jeep keys and head out the front door. The crisp November air is heavy with the promise of rain.
A faint whimper, almost a squeak, draws my attention to a bush on my property. I walk over to the sound and crouch n
ext to the bush, where a small tangle of reddish-brown fur with large floppy ears lies.
“Hey, little guy, what are you doing here?”
The puppy lifts its head slightly and gives another whimper. It doesn’t have a collar, doesn’t look familiar.
I hold my hand out to him, letting him sniff it, and stroke his soft head. “Are you injured?” I don’t know a whole lot about dogs. My only real experience with them comes from my colleague’s dog, Mojo. Jayden’s dog is a Bernese mountain goofball who likes to hang out at the office and soak in as much attention as possible.
I scan the sidewalk, searching for the puppy’s owner. With the exception of several cars driving past, there’s no other sign of life.
I gently scoop him up and cradle him against my chest. He releases a soft, pained sound at the movement, but then he snuggles closer to me.
“There’s a twenty-four-hour vet clinic on the way to my office. I’ll drop you off there on my way to my meeting.”
I carry him inside the house, locate a box big enough to hold him, and cushion it with a towel. The puppy whimpers and licks my hand when I lower him into the box.
The clinic isn’t busy when I arrive—other than a talking parrot that keeps saying, “Spank me naughty boy,” two cats eyeing him with distrust, and a snoozing golden retriever.
The parrot’s owner is a woman in her midtwenties. Her blush deepens every time he speaks. “Would you quit saying that?” she mutters to the bird, sounding more than ready to stuff a cracker down his beak to shut him up.
While I wait for the puppy’s turn, I fire off a text to Liam, letting him know something came up, but I’ll be there as soon as possible.
Five minutes later, the puppy and I are in the exam room, and the vet is checking him over.
“He’s a little malnourished, and his front leg is sprained,” the man explains. “But he should fully recover in no time. I’d like to keep him for twenty-four hours to monitor his condition; then you can take him home.”
“He’s not my dog,” I remind him.
Decidedly with Luck (By The Bay Book 6) Page 33
