The Meaning in Mistletoe - Rachael Bloome Page 0,44

smoldering and scintillatingly sweet.

Her skin tingled all the way to her toes, and she nearly tripped over the ivory aisle runner.

“We’re in that row, up there,” Penny whispered, pointing to where Jack sat, drinking her in with his gaze.

Her throat went dry. She’d have to sit beside him for the entire ceremony? How would she concentrate?

She curled her fingers into her palm, recalling the sensation of his hand wrapped around hers the night they went caroling. There was something so life-giving in his touch. It made her feel like anything was possible.

Even a miracle.

If Jack hadn’t already been sitting down, he would have toppled over at the sight of Kat.

Her dress clung to every curve with an effortless ease he found unbelievably distracting. And her fiery red hair shimmered in the subdued lighting, tempting him to run his fingers through the silky waves.

Heat crept up his neck and he shook the thoughts aside as she slid onto the seat beside him, followed by Penny and Colt.

“Hi,” she murmured, her lips curled into a shy smile.

“Hi,” he croaked in return. He still couldn’t believe she was there, sitting next to him. He’d longed to invite her but also wanted to respect Frank and Beverly’s request to keep the gathering small and intimate, since neither one enjoyed the spotlight. But he should’ve known she’d come with Penny. And he couldn’t be happier about it.

“You look…” he began hoarsely, but words failed him.

“Thank you.” Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink tinge. “So do you.”

“You mean, this old thing?” He flashed a rueful grin, running a hand down the lapel of his navy suit. Lucy had bought it for him, claiming the color enhanced the blue of his eyes. Of course, he didn’t care about that, but he did appreciate that the material was buttery smooth and he could move his arms without feeling like they were encased in cardboard.

Her smile broadened, as though his playful humor set her at ease. At least, he liked to think that was the reason. But what would calm his racing heartbeat? At any moment, it was bound to burst right out of his rib cage.

Sitting so close to her in such a romantic setting while not being about to drape his arm around her shoulders or lace his fingers through hers would be akin to torture.

All throughout the ceremony, his attention wandered to daydreams of him and Kat standing in Frank and Beverly’s place one day. Perhaps it was the ambiance or the surge of emotions, but as he watched two people he cared deeply about proclaim their love for one another, the idea of marriage seemed more and more appealing—and increasingly possible.

But as the vision of their wedding played out in his mind, he was struck by a sobering realization. He couldn’t imagine a ceremony without his family present—all of his family.

He pushed the thought aside, trying to focus on Frank and Beverly as they joined hands, ready to exchange their vows.

Frank—dapper in a charcoal-gray wool suit and Sinatra-inspired fedora—cleared his throat, his nerves evident by the visible tremor in his fingers.

“I’m not one for fancy words,” he began, his voice gravelly. “Or maybe it’s like that Mr. Knightly says in your favorite book, ‘If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.’”

At that, Beverly smiled, touched by the quote from Jane Austen’s Emma.

“Either way,” he continued, “it’s difficult to explain how I went from being a crotchety old Scrooge who’d run out of hope to the happiest man alive, getting married right before Christmas. I guess miracles really do happen.”

Everyone chuckled, and Frank’s nerves seemed to settle. “I can’t promise I’ll never grumble again or sneak a cup of regular coffee when I’m supposed to have decaf. And I may still fall asleep at the end of every Columbo episode and ask you how he solved the crime.”

More snickers, and this time, Beverly joined in, her sweet, lilting laugh rising above the rest.

“But I can promise,” Frank added with conviction, “that I’ll love you more the next day than the one before. And whenever you count your wrinkles and gray hairs, lamenting your lost youth, I’ll remind you that Grace Kelly in her prime couldn’t hold a candle to your beauty, even now.”

Beverly blushed beneath his ardent gaze, and as Jack considered the two lovebirds, each well beyond his years, he didn’t doubt Frank believed every word.

In Frank’s eyes, his bride—dressed in a simple yet elegant ivory dress, her dove-white