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Mac’s hands tightened slightly around hers. His eyes never left her face.

“The rings, please,” Judge Thorton requested.

Amy stepped forward with Truman’s rings on a small blue pillow she must have found in the cottage. Mac took the smaller band first and poised it at the tip of Kelsey’s finger.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” he said, the traditional phrase carrying on the breeze as he slid the gold band onto her finger. It fit perfectly, as if it had been made for her.

Kelsey took the larger ring. “With this ring, I thee wed,” she echoed, sliding the band onto Mac’s finger. The inherent intimacy of the act superseded her detachment to the wedding and her hands trembled slightly.

“By the power vested in me by the State of Maine,” Judge Thorton declared, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.” He smiled warmly. “Mac, you may kiss your bride.”

Mac hesitated, the briefest pause that only Kelsey noticed. Then he leaned forward, one hand coming up to cradle her cheek as his lips met hers in a first kiss that was gentle but not perfunctory, lingering but not passionate. A perfect middle ground for their complicated situation.

Applause erupted from their small audience—Amy’s enthusiastic clapping, Mrs. Henley’s more subdued appreciation, and Truman’s delighted “That’s my boy!” cutting through it all.

When they parted, Kelsey was surprised to find herself slightly breathless. Mac’s expression had softened, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he looked down at her.

“Hello, Mrs. MacCormack,” he murmured, just for her ears.

The name sent a shiver through her that she attributed to the ocean breeze.

“Champagne!” Amy declared and hurried inside to retrieve the bottle she’d apparently been chilling. She returned with five glasses and the bottle, already working the cork loose. “We need to toast the newlyweds before you dash off to Boston!”

The cork popped with a festive sound, and Amy poured the golden liquid into their glasses. Mrs. Henley helped Truman with his, ensuring he received just a small amount in deference to his medication.

“To Mac and Kelsey,” Judge Thorton said, raising his glass. “May your union bring you every happiness.”

“And may it restore your family quickly,” Amy added, raising her own glass toward her sister.

“To family,” Truman said. His frail voice carried surprising weight. He looked at Mac and Kelsey with undisguised affection. “The one we choose and the one that chooses us.”

They clinked glasses. The crystal produced a clear, bright sound that seemed to hang in the perfect afternoon air. Kelsey sipped the champagne, and the bubbles tickled her nose as she tried to process the fact that she was now, legally, Kelsey McCormack.

“I almost forgot!” Amy exclaimed, setting down her glass and hurrying inside again. She returned moments later with a small white bakery box. “It’s not a wedding without cake!”

She opened the box to reveal a miniature wedding cake, elegantly decorated with white buttercream and tiny blue flowers that matched her bouquet. “Eleanor Thompson’s coconut cake,” she explained with a conspirator’s smile. “I called in a special favor this morning.”

“Amy,” Kelsey said, touched by her sister’s thoughtfulness despite the bizarre circumstances. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

“Of course I did,” Amy replied firmly. “This may not be the wedding you dreamed of, but someday you’ll tell Noah about it, and I want it to be a story worth telling.”

Mac’s hand found the small of Kelsey’s back, a gesture that was becoming familiar. “She’s right. Besides, I’ve never met a situation that wasn’t improved by Eleanor’s coconut cake.”

Mrs. Henley produced plates and forks, and Amy ceremoniously cut two small slices for the bride and groom. There was laughter as Mac and Kelsey awkwardly managed to feed each other bites without making a mess—a wedding tradition Amy insisted upon.

“Pictures!” she declared next, producing her phone. “Stand together by the railing, with the ocean behind you.”

Mac and Kelsey obliged, posing first formally side by side, then with his arm around her shoulders. Amy directed them through several poses, including one with Truman seated before them, his gnarled hands holding theirs and face alight with genuine joy.

“Time check,” Mac said finally, glancing at his watch. “We should get on the road if we want to reach Boston before dark.”

The reminder of their mission—of Noah waiting, confused and likely frightened—sobered the mood instantly. Kelsey’s single-minded determination returned full force.

“Yes,” she agreed, setting down her champagne glass. “We should go.”

Truman reached for Mac’s hand, pulling him down to whisper something in his ear that made Mac’s expression soften. Then he turned to Kelsey and took her hand in his papery grip.

“Bring my great-grandson home,” he said simply. “And then bring him to meet me.”