Page 21 of Never Enough

Henry

The first thing I notice is the lights.

Not the building—not the people—not even the band tuning up off to the left. It’s the damn lights strung up across the open yard like a Texas sky decided to come down and sit just above our heads. Twinkling lights flicker everywhere.

Gracie’s mouth is open as she looks around, taking it all in. “Looks like a bunch of lightning bugs,” she says.

“Fireflies,” I add.

She looks up at my face and I can’t help it, I lean down and brush my lips against hers.

“You look beautiful tonight, did I tell you that already?”

“You did not.”

“Well, you do.”

“Thank you.”

I grab her hand, threading our fingers together.

She pauses. “I don’t know if I can do this. I’m a terrible lar.”

“We’re not lying. You are legally my wife and I am your husband. Nothing false about that.”

The delicious scent of meat slow-cooking on the black smokers set up along the far fence permeates the air. My stomach growls. “I can already tell I’m going to need at least two plates before the night’s over.”

Gracie laughs. “I do love some good brisket.”

“See? We’ve got this,” I say. “We’re going to eat some barbecue, talk to friends and family, maybe dance, then it’ll be over. Relax, Firefly, everything will be fine.”

In all the years I’ve known Gracie, I could probably count the number of times I’ve seen her wear a dress. But she’s wearing one tonight, and it’s making my jeans uncomfortably tight in certain places.

It’s soft and fitted around her breasts, then flowy everywhere else. It flutters when she moves, and I’m mesmerized. Her hair’s down, and while I love her in her usual braids, her hair flowing down her back is giving me wicked thoughts.

We walk hand-in-hand towards the main pavilion.

Behind us, a truck door slams. Someone laughs loudly. Music kicks up—fiddle and guitar, something upbeat and easy—and just like that, the whole place shifts. It’s safe to say that Saddle Creek is in full swing.

“My mother hasn’t been speaking to me,” I tell Gracie as we walk. “She’s mad about us eloping.”

“Oh, I hope she’s not mad at me, too. I love your mother.”

“Nah, she likely blames me.” I squeeze her hand.

There’s my family.

Blankenships spread out like we own the place. Which, technically, we might. Between my dad’s side of the family and my mom and her two brothers, our family collectively owns a lot.

My two brothers are clustered with our brothers-in-law, Ethan and Thorne, near the bar, already giving each other shit. Bram Whitmore and my Uncle Graham drag tables together. Kids are running wild underfoot like they’ve been set loose on purpose.

And right in the center of it all are my paternal grandparents, Mimz and Pops.

He’s got one hand wrapped around hers, the other holding a beer. She’s smiling over at him like she’s been doing it for the last fifty-something years and still hasn’t gotten bored.

Something in my chest tightens.

That’s what tonight is supposed to be about.