Something about Ethan felt different.
Not distant.
Not unhappy.
Just…
Preoccupied.
He smiled.
He laughed.
He danced.
Yet every few minutes I caught him watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite understand.
It wasn’t fear.
It wasn’t doubt.
It looked almost like anticipation.
During our first dance, I rested my head against his shoulder.
“You’re awfully quiet.”
He chuckled softly.
“I’ve always been quiet.”
“Not like this.”
He hesitated.
“I keep thinking about my grandmother.”
I smiled.
“Rose?”
For illustrative purposes only
He nodded.
“I wish she could’ve met you.”
“I wish I could’ve met her.”
His hand tightened ever so slightly around mine.
“You will.”
I pulled back enough to look at him.
“What do you mean?”
He searched my face before answering.
“In a way…”
“You’ll understand.”
There was something unusual in his voice.
Something thoughtful.
Almost nervous.
Before I could ask another question, his uncle burst onto the dance floor, clapping hopelessly off-beat.
Everyone erupted into laughter.
One of Ethan’s cousins accidentally dropped an entire tray of fresh biscuits.
Children rushed over to rescue them.
The moment disappeared.
I told myself I’d ask Ethan later.
I never imagined how important that answer would become.
My parents left before sunset.
Mother hugged me longer than expected.
When she finally stepped back, her eyes looked strangely sad.
“You can still come home.”
I smiled gently.
“I already am home.”
She glanced across the barn.
Ethan was kneeling beside his youngest cousin, helping her collect empty cider jars.
For several seconds Mother simply watched him.
Then she quietly whispered,
“I hope you’re right.”
I watched them drive away.
Part of me wondered whether they would ever truly accept my choice.
The other part no longer cared.
By the time the last guests headed home, silence slowly settled over the farm.
The fairy lights still shimmered overhead.
The scent of fresh hay lingered in the cool evening air.
My wedding dress had collected dust around the hem.
There was frosting smeared across Ethan’s sleeve from when one of the children hugged him after stealing another slice of cake.
He noticed me looking.
“What?”
“You still have cake on your arm.”
He laughed.
“I figured I’d wear it proudly.”
I brushed it away.
He reached for my hand.
“There’s somewhere I’d like to take you.”
I grinned.
“What is it?”
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