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As I glance around, it feels like this barn has totally been transformed from a space of storage and maintenance to a beautiful venue fitting for tonight’s formal affair.
Spencer moves in beside me, his hand at my hip as his lips glide across my cheek. “What a passionate speech,” he says, and he glances in front of us at the people who are making their way inside now. “Look at what you’ve done. I’m so damn proud of you.”
I lean in for a quick kiss. “Thank you. For everything—your help, your support…” I trail off. I almost said your love.
I don’t want them to be words we just casually toss about. I want them to hold meaning, and I want to say them to each other when the moment is right since we still haven’t said them.
This feels like it could be one of those moments, but then my dad walks up and slings an arm around me from the other side.
“You did good, Gigi,” he says.
I give him a hug next. “Thanks, Dad.”
My mom is right behind him with a hug, too.
Guests start to mingle as the band quietly plays instrumental music in the background. The silent auction tables are open, waiters walk around with trays of appetizers, and the buffet table with additional snacks and desserts is set up and ready for guests.
I can’t believe all the auction items we received, and between the hotels nearby offering a weekend package and the goodies Spencer procured for us, we’ll be able to cut a sizeable check to the American Heart Association.
I walk by the auction tables that are filled with guests waiting to check out the goods, and I see that one of the items I expected to get the highest bid already has a thousand dollars on it: two tickets to Spencer’s suite at a San Diego Storm game. Little does whoever wins it know that they might be sitting in the same suite as MFB.
I’m too nervous to eat, so I pass up most of the food. The bar, however, is open for business, and it’s serving exclusively our wines. I grab my favorite, the malbec, and Spencer gets one for himself as well.
We make a loop of the barn as we check out our guests having an amazing evening. Aside from the silent auction and the food tables, we also have raffle baskets, a photo booth encouraging guests to share their photos on social media, and, of course, a tasting area showcasing Newlywed wines. Some guests are dancing on the special dance floor we had installed for the event space, and others are sitting at the tables as they network, chat, or laugh with other guests—including the entire Nash clan who made it out for this event.
When I first spotted them outside before we opened the doors, I have to admit, I started to tear up. Spencer didn’t tell me they were coming. He squeezed my hand and helped me hold it together during my speech as we introduced the grand opening of our new event space, but having Missy Nash out in the crowd cheering me on gave me a special warmth in my chest. And seeing Ava clapping for me after I wore her dress made me feel like I’m really a part of the family now, and the mistakes of the past are firmly left behind us.
“I made sure the drunken shrimp doesn’t have any mustard in the sauce if you’d like some,” I tell him, and he laughs.
“Maybe after I dance with my wife.” He raises his brows suggestively.
“Only if you promise we can dance naked later,” I murmur.
“You’ve got yourself a deal.”
I giggle, and we set our glasses down as we step out onto the dance floor. He holds me close as we sway to the live music, and a sense of peaceful happiness engulfs me.
This is it. The planning is over, the night is half-over, and everything has gone off without a hitch.
And it’s always in those peaceful moments where we let our guard down that something goes wrong.
“Do you want to get something to eat?” Spencer asks after we’ve been dancing for a while.
“Yes, let’s get something.” We head over toward the buffet table, and I fill a plate with all the goodies I handpicked to have at this event. I want to try one of everything, so I really load up my plate.
We find a table, and I set my plate down then excuse myself to the restroom. I’m gone far longer than I planned to be since I’m stopped periodically by guests telling me what an amazing event this is, and when I return, a fresh glass of wine awaits beside my plate.
“You’re the best,” I say, leaning in toward Spencer for a kiss.
He gives me the kind of smile that tells me he’s feeling the same sort of way I’m feeling.
And that’s pretty damn exciting.
I take a bite of mini quiche, and it’s so good that I pop the rest of it in my mouth. I hadn’t realized how starving I actually was until I ate the first bite of food. I eat a puff pastry next, and then some cheese, and then another quiche, and then…
“Oh shit,” I mutter as I start to scratch my arm.
Spencer looks alarmed as he glances down at his quiche. “I just ate one, and I’m fine,” he says.
