Page 165 of Sparks Fly

Her hand tightened at my waist. “Nothing’s going wrong.”

I swallowed, my eyes burning.

Sawyer tipped her forehead against mine, gentle and sure.

“Look at you,” she murmured. “You’re doing it.”

“I’m doing it,” I whispered back, barely believing it myself.

Her mouth brushed mine. Soft, public, and completely unafraid.

Then she glanced around the room, taking in my friends, my family, and the crowded dance floor before looking back at me.

“I love you,” she whispered like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“I love you too.”

The words felt like a promise.

Her smile softened into something that felt like home. “Good.”

We kept swaying, slow and steady, surrounded by people, music, and light.

For the first time in my life, being seen didn’t feel like danger.

It just felt like breathing.

* * *

44

Epilogue

Addison

The bridal suite was quiet for the first time all morning, and the silence felt strange after hours of movement, voices, and the constant hum of people preparing for the ceremony. I stood in front of the mirror with both hands resting lightly on the vanity and looked at the woman staring back at me. For a moment I simply studied her without adjusting anything, without tilting my head or smoothing my hair the way I once would have.

A year and a half earlier I would have been searching for something wrong with the reflection. I would have been checking the fit of the dress, adjusting the neckline, or wondering if the version of myself in the mirror matched the version everyone expected to see. I used to know exactly how to perform that role, and I had spent years doing it well enough that most people never questioned it.

Now I just looked.

The dress was white and elegant and exactly the kind of dress I used to imagine wearing when I was younger and flipping through bridal magazines at my grandmother’s house. The fabric fell softly around my legs and the neckline framed my shoulders in a way that felt classic rather than dramatic. When I ran my hands over the skirt, the fabric moved smoothly under my fingers, and for a moment I let myself appreciate the simple fact that I loved it.

The surprising thing was that it did not feel like a costume.

My gaze dropped to my left hand, where the diamond ring caught the morning light from the window. The stone flashed in the mirror and I felt a quiet smile form before I even realized it was happening.

Seeing the ring there still carried a sense of disbelief, not because I doubted the choice but because the moment that had started everything had been so simple.

Ten months earlier Sawyer had proposed to me in our kitchen.

She had come home late from the shop with grease still on her hands and the tired posture she carried after long days working metal and machinery. I had been sitting at the counter wearing one of her old T-shirts and eating leftover pasta straight out of the container while answering emails on my phone. Sawyer had leaned against the sink and watched me for a minute with that thoughtful expression she wore when she was deciding something.

“You know we’re already doing life together, right?” she had said.

I remember looking up at her with a fork in my hand and raising an eyebrow. “I’m aware.”

She had shrugged in that easy way she had when she was about to say something that sounded obvious to her. “Then we should probably make it official.”