Forever Wild(25)

Chapter Eight





I’m not sure what I expected to walk into, but Muriel, my mother, and Astrid sharing a laugh at the counter was certainly not it. The wedding magazines have been closed and stacked in a tidy pile, the broken coffee mug cleaned up as if it’d never happened.

Simon is still puttering at the stove.

And Bj?rn is at the sink, quietly washing dishes.

“What the fuck happened while we were gone?” Jonah murmurs as we quietly shed our boots and outer things.

“Had to be Simon.” He’s always the voice of reason, though I don’t know what he could have said to flip the mood so quickly. I hold up the carton. “Roy had a dozen.”

“Oh! You’re back. Brilliant. I think I’ve managed to keep everything else warm.” Simon, still in his apron, trots over to collect the eggs, offering me a secretive wink. “It’s your wedding. You tell us what you want and we’ll happily fall in line.”

“What about Mom-zilla over there?” I whisper.

He shushes me, but says, “Even her. Maybe not as happily, but she’s already had two weddings of her own. If she wants a third, she’ll have to divorce me first.”

Muriel turns in her seat to offer her wide, face-transforming smile. “I was just tellin’ them about the time Toby surprised a grizzly out behind the Ale House. He didn’t have nothing on him and the thing wouldn’t back off, no matter how much he yelled, so he did the only thing he could think of—broke out in a rendition of ‘The Star-Spangled Banner.’” Muriel’s shoulders shake with laughter.

“And what happened?” I ask curiously. Obviously nothing too horrific, because my friend is alive and well.

“Haven’t you heard that boy try to carry a tune? The poor animal hightailed it outta there.” Muriel is chuckling as she climbs off her stool. “I guess we should get this place set for brunch.” She rounds the counter to the cupboard that holds our dishes. Sometimes I think she knows this kitchen better than I do. “Here, Bj?rn. I could use your help. My right hip isn’t what it used to be.”

There’s nothing wrong with Muriel’s hip.

Before Bj?rn realizes what’s happening, she’s handed him a stack of plates. “Go on. Over on that table Roy built for them. It’s high time it got used.”

With nothing more than a glance Jonah’s way, he saunters over to set the table.

Astrid beckons Jonah with an outstretched hand. He closes the distance instantly. “I’m living the life I want to live, and I’m happy,” she whispers, cupping his cheek. “Just as you are permitted to do.”

He sighs heavily. “I’m sorry for being a jerk.”

Mom catches my eye. Her brow pulls together as she mouths, “I’m sorry. I got carried away.”

I smile and mouth back, “I know.”

Mom rolls her eyes but then smiles. Her emotions sometimes lead her to act irrationally, especially when she has an idea in her head. At least she always sees it after the fact.

“What time are Agnes and Mabel arriving?” Muriel asks, her hands full of cutlery.

“They’ll be here around one.” I steal a glance Jonah’s way to find him watching me closely, that crooked smile that is my downfall touching his lips. I reach for him and he sidles up beside me, curling his arm around my shoulder. I look to him—because he’s truly the only one who matters here—when I add, “Which will give Jonah and me enough time to drive to the courthouse to apply for a marriage license, because we’ve decided we don’t want to wait anymore.”

There’s a clatter of silverware, as Muriel empties her hands onto the table, freeing them to slap together in a loud clap. “Well, hot damn! We have ourselves a wedding to plan!” she exclaims, her voice full of uncharacteristic glee.





“Calla? You down there?” Jonah’s deep voice booms from the top of the stairs.

“Yeah!”

“You callin’ Diana?”

Shit. I need to do that, too. “Give me ten.” I settle into my desk chair, the stack of identification and other paperwork that we need to apply for our license next to me.

Upstairs, I can hear the hum of voices. Astrid’s reaction to our news was in line with Muriel’s, though far more subdued. My mother, on the other hand, took a few deep breaths and then started talking out loud about an intimate wedding she arranged the flowers for a few years back and how lovely it turned out.

Now, they and Muriel are upstairs discussing the order of what needs to be booked, and what are our limited options. Obviously my mother will do the flowers and Astrid has graciously offered to bake the cake, but there are so many things up in the air.

I shake out my hands as I wait for my MacBook to power up. My frazzled nerves at the moment have nothing to do with the fact that Jonah and I are getting married next week, though. That decision, I’m confident in.

This one … not so much.

I open my email server and hit Compose.

Before I lose my nerve, I type out a message I pray will change someone’s life as much as a phone call one night in July changed mine.





“If that’s Jonah again, tell him we’re five minutes from home.” His worry is equal parts endearing and annoying.