Tilda Grant, Star Princess

“This is for you, my dear.” Liza holds a paper cup out to me.

I take it and cradle it in my hands, absorbing the warmth. “What is it?”

“Mulled cider. Or wine.” She tips her head to the side. “Is there a difference?”

I grin. “Pretty sure the difference is alcohol.”

Her brows rise, then she snickers. “Well, good thing my mister is driving today.”

She pats me on the shoulder, then spots someone else she knows and bustles away, her skirt kicking up plumes of the fresh-fallen snow.

Ethan appears beside me, and I grin at him. Like I always do when he’s wearing his fancy hat.

“What?” He narrows his eyes as he grabs the cup from my hands and takes a sip.

“I didn’t say anything.” I take the cup back.

It’s not just the fancy hat that makes Ethan look extra sexy right now. It’s the all-black suit. With his black leather boots. The perfect mix of Grumpy Ranger and Good Boy.

“It’s just… so weird,” my husband says seriously.

“What is?” I lean against his side.

“Seeing Liza in a dress.”

I snort. “You’re acting like a kid seeing his teacher in public for the first time. Liza obviously wears more than just her ranger uniform.”

Ethan shakes his head. “Nope. It’s permanent. She bathes in it.”

“You’re a turd. And her dress is pretty.”

Ethan slowly turns to me. “Your dress is pretty.”

“Thank you.” I twist side to side, making the skirt dance around my legs, showing it off to Ethan, as though he wasn’t there when I bought it.

Not long after the opening day of this place, when we found our way back to each other, Ethan surprised me by bringing me to a custom dressmaker.

He told me he wanted to do it right. To get married all over again. And do it however I’d dreamed of doing it growing up.

Ethan said that he knew I would have wanted to pick out a special dress for the occasion.

That if I had known it was going to be my wedding day, I would’ve worn something different.

He promised that I looked perfect in my yellow dress, but said that he wanted to see me in the bridal gown of my choosing.

I, of course, cried on the sidewalk in front of the store.

He panicked.

I told him I loved him.

He calmed down.

And then I told him I didn’t want to do the wedding over. That it was perfect and part of our story, and we have the photos to prove it. But… I did want a reception.

So, here we are.

It took a few months to get everything arranged. To get my dress made. An ombre number that’s a goldish yellow at the hem of the poofy tulle skirt and transitions up to a bright white at the sweetheart neckline. And the whole thing is covered with glittering embroidered stars.

The short sleeves would be far too cold for this March afternoon, but I have my shoulders and arms covered in a white velvet cape, complete with faux fur trim and a hood.

The whole thing is frilly and fancy, and I feel like the luckiest princess in the universe.

Ethan slides a hand under my cape and grips my side. “I can’t wait to suffocate myself under your skirts tonight.”

“Ethan,” I hiss.

“You’re a pig,” Sandra groans as she steps up on his other side.

Ethan laughs, loud and carefree.

My sister-in-law, who insists I just call her my sister, turns to me. “He is a pig, but the dress is stunning.”

I roll my eyes even as I grin.

Sandra showed up for two of the fittings, so she’s just as familiar with the dress as Ethan is. But it’s the most beautiful thing I own, so I appreciate their comments.

“What are you drinking?” Ethan reaches for Sandra’s cup.

She pulls it back out of reach. “It’s hot chocolate. Go get your own.”

Watching these two as siblings has been one of my greatest joys. They’re so lighthearted together and always teasing one another, but you can tell how much they love each other. And I love that they have that.

And with Ethan basically living at my house, Sandra has been visiting a lot, spending the weekends, sleeping at Ethan’s house.

“Babe!” Fisher jogs up to our group. And as Ethan always does when Fisher calls Sandra that, he tries to hit him. Fisher dodges the backhand. I’m pretty sure Fisher uses the pet name simply to annoy Ethan. And it’s another thing I love. “Come watch me destroy these punks in hockey.”

Sandra takes his hand, and they rush off toward the small ice rink that was frozen overnight, just for today.

For our wedding reception.

Kind of.

We’re hosting. And we’re dressed for a wedding. But we decided to make it an event for the whole town, celebrating the success of Uncle Jack’s Wilderness Camp since its opening.

We hired food trucks, an on-site candle maker, a face painter, a DJ. And we have people running educational booths, teaching outdoor survival skills, and experts, like Shelia—who has an eagle with her today—showcasing animals.

It’s the perfect way for us to enjoy a party while sharing the joy with others.

And since I’ve been volunteering at the camp, teaching kids about ducks and showing them how to map the stars, I’ve gotten to know a lot of the locals.

One of the locals, Fisher’s boss, walks by with a child dangling upside down from his shoulders. The little girl is cackling, swinging her arms around.

Sterling glares at Ethan. “Thanks for all the free sugar. Definitely no side effects.”

His wife, Courtney, is a few steps behind. She’s beaming at us. “Ignore him. He’s just mad he dropped his apple turnover.”

I wave at Ursa. The Blacks are here quite a bit, and Fisher usually brings Ursa with him when he comes to check on the fish in the pond. The kid waves back at me. Then she bites Sterling’s shirt.

I snicker. She’s definitely a handful. But if my suspicions are correct, I think she’ll be a sweet and protective big sister.

I take another sip of my drink, sighing over the steam. Everyone here has been so welcoming that I feel like I’ve been here for years.

I smile against my cup.

This really is my happy place.

The camp. Lonely. Colorado.

Anywhere with Ethan.

“And then there’s this idiot,” Ethan grumbles, then crouches down beside me.

“What’re you…”

Ethan stands. And hurls a snowball.

“Ethan!”

Twenty feet away, the sphere thuds against the center of a man’s back, causing him to shift forward a step.

Rocky slowly turns around, with something that looks like a brownie raised halfway to his mouth.

He glares at Ethan.

Ethan points at some random guy eating a pretzel.

A welcoming group of people, where all the men pretend like they hate each other.

Rocky’s wife, Kendra, is in a periwinkle pompom hat that matches Rocky’s fleece-lined flannel. And every time I see them, I blush. Because it still reminds me of the first time I gave Ethan a big blow job.

Rocky hands his brownie to Kendra, then reaches for a snow-covered bush.

Ethan starts to back away from me. “I’ll… be right back. Gonna get us some more food.”

“Chicken.”

“That’s an insult to Quackers.”

I shake my head as he slips behind the doughnut truck, out of snowball range.

A different man appears on my other side. And I bump my shoulder against his. “Enjoying yourself?”

Stephen smiles down at me, emotion bright in his eyes. “This… He would’ve loved this.”