Forever Wild (The Simple Wild #2.5) - K.A. Tucker Page 0,30

of our house, which is already chaotic enough with all the guests.

Mom cautiously suggested we see “this Ale House of yours” before we committed to a wedding reception there.

So we drove over, and Mom spent a half hour walking in circles, pointing at things that would need to be put away or cleaned up—the cluttered bulletin board, the cheap folding tables, the fishing trophies.

Muriel agreed without argument. Shockingly.

My mother’s exact words were, “I can work with this.”

And so it was decided that our reception would take place at the Ale House.

With the biggest decisions nailed down, Muriel began listing all our resource options, both obvious and unconventional, given the tight timeline. Twenty-one-year-old Lacey Burns, who won a photography competition for her candid high school yearbook pictures and happens to be home from college for Christmas break; Michael and Anne Bowering, music teachers who play seven instruments and sing at church every Sunday; Gloria from the Winter Carnival planning community, who has been taking culinary classes in Anchorage for years, and is the best cook Muriel knows.

There wasn’t a question she couldn’t answer or a quandary she couldn’t recommend a solution for.

Muriel was in her element.

And I’ve never valued her more.

A few hours and a dozen phone calls later, we had a photographer, musicians, and our caterer lined up. My mother phoned every florist between Wasilla and Anchorage to survey our options for flowers, and Astrid was throwing cake flavors at me.

It all seems too easy.

Maybe it is. Maybe this is going to be a disaster.

“She’s marrying Jonah. It’s going to be perfect, no matter what happens,” Agnes, always the angel on my shoulder, chirps from the back seat.

Mom seems to absorb that. She turns to meet Agnes’s gaze. “You know what? You’re right. Calla is marrying her sky cowboy—”

“Oh God, Mom!” I cringe through the chorus of laughter.

But she’s right.

I’m marrying Jonah.

In eight days, I’ll be Mrs. Calla Riggs.

The wife of the furry-faced dickhead pilot who all but wrote me off that day Agnes sent him to pick me up from the airport. Who would’ve ever seen this coming? Certainly not me.

Butterflies erupt in my stomach as my attention drifts to the diamond snowflake on my finger. Jonah had a custom band made at the same time, but he has refused to show it to me, and I have yet to unearth his hiding place. Not for lack of trying.

Suddenly it dawns on me. “I need a ring for him!” I completely forgot.

“Oh. Right.” My mom’s deep frown says she forgot, too.

I check the clock. It’s after three p.m. on Christmas Eve. “I’ll drop you guys off and see if I can find something in Wasilla.”

“What? No. You’re not going back out today. This storm is getting worse by the minute.” My mom shakes her head firmly.

“But he needs a ring.” Guilt stirs inside me that this is the first I’ve thought of it. Jonah’s always been so considerate, with the plane pendant that he flew hours away to have custom made, and with my engagement ring.

“We can find one on Thursday,” Agnes promises. “Men’s wedding bands are simple. He won’t want anything flashy.”

“Yeah, but they’ll have to resize it. He’s got those big yeti hands.”

Mabel, whose enthusiasm over dress shopping dwindled half an hour into the first store and who’s mainly sulked for the remainder of the time, snorts.

“Will he even wear it? I mean, he doesn’t seem the jewelry type. You know, your father would leave his band lying around the house all the time. I’d get so mad at him. He finally lost it once and for all while out flying one day.”

“Jonah needs one for the day. It doesn’t matter if he wears it later.” Though he had better.

“We got your dress today. We’ll get the ring on Thursday. No problem. It’ll all work out.”

I steal a glance in my rearview mirror to meet Agnes’s crinkled eyes. “I need a pair of your rose-colored glasses.”

Her smile widens. “That’s convenient because I got you a pair for Christmas.”

My phone rings over the Bluetooth system then and a second later, Diana’s name appears on my Jeep’s screen.

“We’ll be home in five minutes. You can talk to her then.” My mom wrings her hands nervously.

When I called Diana yesterday to explain the situation, she shrieked, told me she hated me, and then demanded that I not replace her with some imposter until I’ve heard back from her. I’ve been anxiously awaiting her call ever since.

I hit the answer button