The mayor tried to ruin me at the altar—until the pastor spoke a single name that brought the entire ceremony to a halt

gently. He was a kind man in his late seventies, a fixture in Oakridge long before the Sterlings had taken over half the commercial district. His eyes crinkled warmly behind wire-rimmed glasses. “It’s a big moment. Breathe.”

I inhaled deeply, letting the scent of beeswax and lilies fill my lungs, and lowered the pen toward the page.

I never finished continue reading …